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NOTES 


OF A 


TWO YEARS’ RESIDENCE IN ITALY. 


BY 

HAMILTON GEALE, ESQ. 

\ i 

BARRISIER AI-IAW. 


“ Del bel paese la dove ’1 si suona.” 

D.ots. 


SECOND EDITION, WITH ILLUSTRATIONS. 



WILLIAM S. ORR AND CO., 147 STRAND. 

DUBLIN: JAMES M°GLASHAN, 21 D’OLIER-STREET. 


MDCCCXLIX. 




TO THE 


RIGHT HON. THE COUNTESS FORTESCUE, 

THE FOLLOWING SELECTIONS 
FROM 

tBuv 

ARE INSCRIBED 


BY HER AFFECTIONATE BROTHER. 




CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER I. 


PAGE 

Departure for Italy—Chalons sur Saone—Lyons and the Rhone to Avignon . 5 

CHAPTER II. 

✓ 

Arles, its Antiquities and Ruins—Marseilles and the Mediterranean . . 15 

CHAPTER III. 

Leghorn—Pisa—Aspect of the Country—The Duomo—Road to Florence—Tuscan 
Peasantry—Distaste of the Italian Nobility to a Country Life—First Impres¬ 
sions on Arriving in Florence ..... .20 


CHAPTER IV. 

General prosperity of Tuscany—Agriculture—Its advanced state in this part of 
Italy—Division of Italy into so many different States—Coincidence of the 
Architectural with the Historical Character of Florence—Extreme venera¬ 
tion manifested for departed Genius by the Italians . . . .32 


CHAPTER V. 

Galleries of Florence—The “ Venus de Medicis,” and the “Venus 1 ’ ofCanova— 
Paintings in the Palazzo Pitti—Churches of Florence—Michael Angelo’s 
“ Day and Night”—Academy of the Belle Arti—Palaces—Profusion of 
Flowers in Florence . . . . . . . . 3G 




VI 


CONTENTS, 


CHAPTER VI. 

Journey from Florence to Rome by the Strada di Perugia—Vetturino Tra¬ 
velling—Description of the Road to the Tuscan Frontier—Lake of Thrasy- 
mene—Perugia—Pietro Perugino, and his School of Painting—Assisi—St. 
Francis and his Order—Foligno—Valley of Spoleto—The Clitumnus—Its 
celebrated Temple—Byron’s Description and unpoetical Realities—Spoleto 
—The Rocca—Papal Misgovernment—The Defiles of Monte Somma—Terni 
—The Caduta di Marmore—Cross the Tiber and enter Latium—Civita 
Castellana—Ruinous state of the Papal Towns—Desolation of the Cam- 
pagna—Approach to Rome—First View of the “ Eternal City”—Imposing 
Entrance into Rome by the Porta del Popolo .... 


CHxlPTER VII. 

Rome and its Antiquities—“ A Bird’s-eye View”—The Museum of the Conser- 
vatorio andCampidoglia—St. Peter’s—The Reformation—Churches of Rome 
—Their excessive number—Vespers in St. Peter’s—Gregox-y the XVI.— 
The Vatican—The Walk from the Vatican along the Tiber—The Mole of 
Adrian—Monte Mario—Sunset from the Pincian—Opera in Rome, and 
Roman Manners ........ 


CHAPTER VIII. 

Palaces of Rome—Villas of Rome—The Borghese—Bernini—The French Aca¬ 
demy—The 11 Villa Mills” on the Palatine—Grotto of Egeria—The Cam- 
pagnaof Rome—The A queduct—Tivoli—Departure from Rome for Florence 


CHAPTER IX. 

Disagreeable Night in the Roman Mai di Posta, and equally disagreeable Day at 
Aquapendente—Agreeable change of place to the Tuscan Mai Posta, and 
visible Improvement of everything on entering Tuscany—Radicofani— 
Siena—Its imposing situation—Reflections on the Conquest of Siena by 
the Grand Duke Cosmo—Arrival in Florence . . 


CHAPTER X. 

Easter Ceremonies in Florence—Deserved popularity of the Grand Duke Leopold 
—Society in Florence—Character of the Italians vindicated—French Occu¬ 
pation of Florence—Bonaparte, his Italian policy—State and Prospects of 
the Liberal Cause in Italy—Religious Condition of the People—Visit to 
Vallambrosa—Summer Arrangement 


PA 68 


43 


60 


93 


106 


i 

\l 

119 


V 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER XT. 

PAGE 

Journey to Venice by Bologna—Ferrara and Padua—Arrival in Venice . 147 


CHAPTER XII. 

Venice—Needlessness of any Description of it—A glance at its*History— The 
Venetians—Their love of Music—Disappearance of their ancient Costume 
—Wrong done to Venice by the Treaty of Campo Formio . . .158 


CHAPTER XIII. 

Churches of Venice—Monuments of the Great Men of the Republic—Marino 
Faliero—Venetian System of Government—Place of St. Mark, and other 
remarkable localities—Visit to the Island of the Armenian Convent—The 
Ducal, Manfrini, and Barbcrigo Palaces—Gallery of the Belle Arti—Arsenal 
—Departure from Venice . . . . . . .167 


CHAPTER XIY. 

Badness of the Forage at Padua—The saying, that “ the eye of the Master 
makes the Dorse fat,” holds everywhere—Este—Visit to Arqua—Petrarch, 
his Claims upon Posterity—His “ Rime”—His House—His Tomb—Road 
from Este to Mantua—San Benedetta—Bad Government and miserable 
Condition of the People in the Modenese—Modena, brief Description of— 

The Duke of Modena—His unpopularity—The Revolution here in 1831 — 
Duplicity of Louis Philippe and his Government—Claims of the Italian 
People upon the free Nations of Europe—Splendid Opera at Modena— 
Badness of the Road to the Tuscan Frontier—Pleasure at finding ourselves 
again in Tuscany—Arrival in Pistoja . . . . .182 


CHAPTER XY. 

Brief Description of Pistoja—Our Villa—Absence of English Society and “ Eng¬ 
lish Comforts” compensated for—Agriculture—This part of Italy an Argu¬ 
ment in favour of Small Farms—The Metaric System—Industry of the 
Tuscan Peasantry—The Pistojese—Dante’s Unfavourable Character of them 
—Church of the Madonna d’Umilta—Tradition, that “ the Real Corinna 
was a Native of Pistoja”—Hospitals—Their Praiseworthy and Admirable 
Management—Religious Devotions of the Pistojese—Processions and Cere¬ 
monies—Hymns of the Contadini—Festa della Spiga—A Harvest Home— 
Painful Interruption of our Tranquil Mode of Life—Departure from Pistoja 201 


VI11 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

The Baths of Lucca—Lucca and the Lucchese—The Cathedral, the “Santo 
Volto”—Dante’s Residence in Lucca—His love for the beautiful Gentucca 
—Compared with Milton as an epic poet—Arrival in Leghorn—Embark 
for Naples ......... 


CHAPTER XVII. 

Naples, impressions and description of—Its noise and uproar—Furious driving 
—Climate—The Sirocco at Naples—Pompeii and its sights—Impressions 
left upon the mind by a visit to this “City of the Dead”—Plans and dis¬ 
appointments—“ Man proposes, God disposes”—Environs of Naples—Ely- 
siau Fields—Baia—Shooting Excursion to the Lago di Monte—The Duke 
d’Aumale in search of a Wife—Policy of Louis Philippe—King of Naples’ 
love of “ playing at Soldiers”—Caserta—Psestum—Capri—Museo Borbonieo 
—Leave Naples for Rome ... .... 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

The Winter at Rome—Religious Festivals—Gaieties—“ Why is there no English 
Minister in Rome ?”—System of Government by Ecclesiastics—Roman Man¬ 
ners—Domestic Sorrows—Removal to Albano—Journey to Florence—An 
honest Yetturino—Return by myself to Rome—The Holy Week—The 
Ceremonies—Break up of the Foreign Society of Rome—Still linger in 
the “ Eternal City”—My last Visits in Rome—Farewell Reflections— 
Return to Florence—Departure from Italy—End .... 


PACK 


217 


230 


276 



ERRATA. 


In consequence of the author’s absence on the Continent ■when the work was going 
through the press, he had not an opportunity of correcting the proof sheets ; and 
has to beg the reader’s indulgence for the errors of the press as well as for his own. 

At page 84, for “ Madonna de Foligne,” read “ Foligno.” At page 87, for “ in 
which the poem of Milton is so strongly intrenched,” read “ with which the poem 
of Milton is so strongly impressed.” At page 88, for “ miracle of Bolsona,” read 
“Bolsena;” at same place, for “a pandering,” read “pandering.” At page 91, 
for “ strains of Fiezzilini,” read Frezzilini.” At page 94, for “ Raphael’s Forna- 
sina,” read “ Fornarina.” At page 111, for “ teefa,” read “ tufa.” At page 129, 
for “ Giovani Gastine,” read “ Giovani Gastone at same place, for “ Paggia Im- 
periale,” read “ Poggio Impcriale.” At page 139, for “ Yallambrosa," read “ Val- 
lombrosa.” At page 145, for “Villa Colle-Gallata,” read “Villa Colle-Gelato.” 
At page 189, for “Beve l’Arqua,” read “ Beve l’Aqua.” At page 190, for “ Gon- 
zaqu,” read Gcnzaga.” At page 195, for “ Menolti,” read “ Menotte.” At page 
205, for “ Metaric,” read “ Metarie.” At page 212, for “ cerando,” read “ cercan- 
do,” in the rustic hymn there quoted ; and/or “siagi,” read “ sia gia,” &c. At 
page 213, for “ sacrete,” read “ sarete;” for “ nostio,” read “ nostro;” for “ qua- 
dre,” read “ squadre.” At page 219, for “laPulta,” read “laPulita.” At page 
224, for “ Cantore della Rettidamia,” read “ Cantore della Rettitudine.” At page 
237, for “ could enjoy,” read “ could not enjoy.” At page 249, for “ Carmaldoli,” 
read “ Camaldoli.” At page 253, for “ L-ago di Monte,” read “Lago di Morte.” 
At page 25 6, for “ un ancien militaire,” read “ un ancient,” &c. At page 276, 
for “ praecessio,” read “ praecepio.” At page 279, for “ grlente,” read “ niente.” 
At page 286, for “ Repette,” read “Ripetto ;” at same place, for “ altera,” read 
“ antica.” At page 288, for “ Ponte Rolto,” read “ Ponte Rotto,” &c. For 
“ presvo,” beneath the first illustration, read “ presso ;” for “Toscania,” passim 
“ ToBcana,” &c. &c. 


















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PREFACE. 


From him who ventures forth as the author of another 
work upon Italy, some apology will be required ; it seems 
like presumption to tread in the steps of Eustace and 
Forsyth, and Lady Morgan (not to mention so many 
others), over the oft-travelled highways of this classic 
land—and yet, perhaps, there is more to excuse such, 
than almost any other literary enterprise. While the 
world endures, Italy will ever present to mankind the 
same charms and the same interest; but different minds 
will behold this lovely country with different views, and 
under different circumstances, though all with feelings 
such as no other European land awakens. The scholar 
and the artist will regard her for her past glory and 
the monuments of her ancient greatness; the lover of 
nature, for her teeming fertility and lovely climate ; the 
poet, for all combined in that “ immaculate charm which 
cannot be effaced,” and which, even in her ruin, has 
shed upon Italy an undying beauty. It is not, then, 
surprising that, out of the crowds of pilgrims to this 
“ bright, sunny land,” so many, in the pleasure of mark¬ 
ing an epoch of their lives, and recording the birth of 
new ideas, or at least of new tastes, should forget their 
usual prudence, and rush into print. How far this 


s 






PREFACE. 


o 


“ error et levis hsec insania” may have influenced me, 
I will not say ; but I may observe (although I feel it 
is no excuse for their want of merit), that these notes 
were written more as an exercise to assist me in recalling 
what I had seen and studied during our residence in 
different parts of Italy, than with any definite idea of 
publication. Recent events, however, in Italy, and the 
deep interest which I feel in the cause of her oppressed 
people, now struggling to regain their long-lost liberties, 
have induced me to re-peruse these papers; and finding 
here and there some reflections and observations on the 
religious and political state of Italy, which I think may 
be useful, I have ventured to publish them. The people 
of Italy, all things considered, will find England their 
most powerful ally to aid them in securing for their 
country the blessings of constitutional government. Her 
naval supremacy and strong possessions in the Mediter¬ 
ranean, manifestly place her in a position to render them 
the most effective assistance ; while the plainest prin¬ 
ciples of interest and sound policy point out to her the 
incumbent duty of promoting the progress of free prin¬ 
ciples in the Italian peninsula. England has, indeed, 
long played a conspicuous part in the political changes 
of Italy ; but it has not always been a creditable, or, if 
I may say so, a national one. Hitherto lending herself 
to Royal Compacts, and the dynastic schemes of the Con¬ 
tinental Courts, England, that ought to stand out amongst 
the nations of the earth as the hope, as well as the home 
of freedom, has lent her free forces to aid the tyrants of 
Italy in riveting the fetters of her fallen but still illus¬ 
trious people. But let us hope, that new and juster 
views may henceforth guide our foreign policy, that it 
may be made to accord with the free principles of our 
government, and to reflect the open and manly character 


PREFACE. 


o 

«) 

of the English people. In our promulgation of the prin¬ 
ciples of free trade, we have invited a more intimate and 
cordial intercourse with the surrounding nations, and have 
become more deeply interested in their condition. Hence¬ 
forth it is w r ith the nations, with the people, and not merely 
with their kings and rulers, that England must seek to 
establish relations of amity ; there are few countries in 
Europe with wdiich she could carry on a more advantageous 
commerce than Italy, and nowhere (notwithstanding our 
past political errors) are all the better qualities of the 
English character more fully understood and appreciated. 
An earnest desire for liberty now animates the people of 
Italy, and they only require that England should protect 
them from foreign aggression, to succeed in establishing 
free institutions. Many and striking are the indications 
of an awakening spirit of nationality amongst the Italians ; 
but I have been more impressed with a conviction of the 
change that is impending, from all I heard and witnessed 
at the eighth Congress of the Italian Scienzati, which met 
at Genoa during the autumn of last year. Seldom of late 
years had “ Genova la Superba” worn so gay and striking 
an aspect—again were her magnificent streets thronged 
with crowds of strangers, and her marble palaces thrown 
open with a splendid hospitality : but the Genoese were 
not unmindful, on this occasion, of their ancient glory, 
and departed maritime greatness. One of the most inter¬ 
esting and appropriate ceremonies of the week was the 
auspicious inauguration of the statue of Columbus; and, 
while attending one of the sections at the University, I 
heard a resolution brought forward in favour of free trade, 
during the discussion of which, sentiments were uttered 
(in sj}ite of repeated attempts to silence the speakers), 
that abundantly shew r ed the liberal tendencies of the 
public mind of Italy. Surely, I said, such a country 


4 


PREFACE. 


cannot remain much longer in her present state of de¬ 
gradation, without a voice amongst the nations of the 
world. Unlike the other ancient empires, twice has Italy 
attained to the highest pitch of glory ; and twice has she 
been the benefactress, if not the mistress, of the world. 
Such, at least, were the thoughts suggested to me by this 
my visit to Genoa, accompanied by the desire to aid, to 
the utmost of my power, in strengthening that sympathy 
which is now beginning to be felt in England in the cause 
of Italian liberty. 

If I have at all succeeded in this object, I shall feel 
amply compensated for my imprudence in having engaged 
in a work which, to so great a degree, has denied me even 
the hope of novelty ; and, perhaps, may venture to expect 
the reader’s forgiveness for having trespassed on a field 
already occupied by so many abler labourers. 

H. G. 


September, 1847 . 



NOTES 


OF A 

TWO YEARS’ RESIDENCE IN ITALY. 


CHAPTER I. 


Departure for Italy—Chalons sur Saone—Lyons and the Rhone to Avignon. 

The season being far advanced, we determined to go 
into Italy by Marseilles, and thus postponed our en¬ 
joyment of the glorious scenery which the passage of 
the Alps discloses, to our return. We had no reason 
to regret our determination. We had all the advan¬ 
tage of the rapid courses of the Saone and “ arrowy” 
Rhone to speed us on our way, while their banks, as 
we floated by, continued to open to our admiration, as 
in a panorama, the most varied and interesting scenery. 
What a noble country is France ! What an extent and 
unity of territory—how rich and varied its productions— 
what elements of greatness ! Nature certainly appears, 
in the physical features of this great country, to have 
marked out to her a high and glorious destiny; and 
yet, though her chronicles are blazoned in the history 
of the world, she has never yet fulfilled it. False glory 
—a false estimate of greatness—has ever perverted the 
national mind of France. But a great change has been 
effected; and while her revolutions have swept away 
some institutions and habits which we could wish had 
survived, the French have become a far more sober and 
reflecting people ; so that we may hope their future 








6 


LYONS. 


course amongst the families of the earth will advance 
(with their own) the happiness of mankind. 

The most tedious and disagreeable part of our journey 
was to Chalons. The road is, perhaps, one of the most 
uniformly uninteresting in France ; and though it runs 
frequently through a most fertile country, there was 
little indication of agricultural improvement; and the 
habits and cottages of the peasantry, generally, exhibited 
a low scale of living. Numerous are the memorials we 
met with at Chalons and Lyons of the great genius of 
Napoleon—a genius at one and the same time displayed in 
conquest, legislation, and magnificent public works. We 
are amazed at the varied and wondrous achievements, and 
can scarcely believe it possible they could have been com¬ 
passed within a period so brief and eventful. No wonder 
that when their hero escaped from Elba, the people of this 
part of France cast off so eagerly the drowsy rule of 
the imbecile Bourbons, and turned an apparently des¬ 
perate invasion into an ovation and royal progress. 

The scenery along the banks of the Saone, though very 
inferior in romantic beauty and interest to the Rhone, is 
rich and varied, particularly where the vine-clad hills of 
Macan become visible. The situation of this fine town, 
so famous for its wine, is very striking and beautiful. 

Our stay at Lyons was too short to allow us more 
than a cursory glance at this, the Birmingham of the 
South of France; but, except in its manufacturing cele¬ 
brity, it would be unjust to compare this fine town, 
with its noble quays and bridges spanning the tributary 
confluence of two great rivers, with the hideous staring 
streets of brick, with chimneys towering, Babel-like, 
through the murky sky, the only distinguishable features 
of that reeking, simmering realm of Plutus. The Hotel 
Dieu is a noble institution. How poor in comparison 


LYONS. 


appears the forced relief of our poor-law system, or even 
the cold aid extended to the afflicted in our hospitals ! 
Here is no callous matron—no hireling nurse—Charity 
invokes the aid of her elder sister, Religion; and woman, 
generous, sympathising woman, answers the appeal. One 
hundred and fifty nuns here fulfil all the duties usually 
assigned to nurses—watch by day and night over the 
sick bed of the suffering, prepare diet, administer the 
medicines, read to and cheer the convalescent, console 
and support the dying. Why cannot the purer faith of 
Protestants impel them to such offices ? 

Lyons contains many interesting remains of the times 
of the Romans, which, it is said, are well deserving the 
attention of the learned ; but I confess that I preferred 
strolling along the quays, and crossing and re-crossing 
the bridges of the modern town, to climbing the heights 
of Mount Fourviere, the supposed site of old Lugdunum, 
in search of some tesselated pavement, or Roman brick¬ 
work, although, haply, the ruins of imperial palaces. 
Nothing can be more striking than the contrast presented 
at Lyons between the two great rivers which here unite 
themselves; and the contrast cannot be more elegantly 
or happily described than in the words of Gray. “ The 
Rhone and Saone,” says he, “ like two people, who, 
though of tempers extremely unlike, think fit to join 
hands here, and make a little party to travel to the 
Mediterranean in company. The Lady comes gliding 
along through the fruitful plains of Burgundy— 

‘Incredibili lenitate ita ut oculis in utram partem flnit judicari non 
possit 

the Gentleman runs all rough and roaring down from 
the mountains of Switzerland to meet her; with 








8 


THE RHONE. 


all lier soft airs, she likes him never the worse; she goes 
through the middle of the city in state, and he passes 
incog, without the walls, hut waits for her a little 
below.” 

The houses of Lyons are still as high, and the streets 
as narrow, as when Gray visited it; and, altogether, the 
city retains much of that dismal aspect of which he com¬ 
plains. 

The canaille of Lyons are celebrated for their turbulence 
and ferocity, and everywhere we observed indications of 
the recent sanguinary insurrection. A cutting wind, with 
clouds of dust—a foretaste of the pestilent vente-debise 
we expected further down the Rhone—did not tend to 
render Lyons more agreeable; and having sufficiently 
reposed ourselves at the Hotel du Parc, we were glad 
to find ourselves again in motion, and borne rapidly 
towards the sunny south by the rapid waters of the 
Rhone. The scenery along the banks of the Rhone 
exceeds, in beauty and variety, in my humble opinion, 
even that of the Rhine. Too much of late years has 
been said of the latter; but it is now beginning to 
suffer the punishment of an overpraised beauty. My 
early admiration of the Rhine, and the happy recollec¬ 
tions associated with my first visit to its banks, are 
still vivid and grateful. At the same time, I think it 
must be admitted, that, with the exception of that part 
of the river bordering the Drachenfells and Rheingau, 
the mere lover of scenery, the pilgrim in search of the 
picturesque, is generally disappointed. It is only when 
we come to consider the Rhine as a whole, from the 
grandeur of its Helvetian source, to its far confluence 
with the German Ocean—its volume of water and navi¬ 
gable power—the various countries and states united 
into brotherhood by its equal course—the noble cities, 


THE RHONE. ft 

and rich and teeming agriculture along its banks—that 
we acknowledge its pre-eminence, and can appreciate 
and share in the enthusiasm which the sight of that 
“ exulting and abounding river,” as Byron beautifully 
calls it, excites in the breast of the most phlegmatic 
German; but, without further comparison, the vanity, 
even of a Frenchman, has enough to boast of, in the 
Rhone, the scenery of which, almost the entire way 
from Lyons to Avignon, is uninterruptedly varied and 
beautiful. The delighted traveller is charmed with a 
succession of objects, which unite to their scenic beauty 
so much historical interest; rich vine-clad hills enclose 
the river on both banks, as we approach the town of 
Vienne, so celebrated as the chief town of the Allobrogi, 
whose deputies the classical reader will remember were 
implicated in Catiline’s conspiracy; and from the doubt¬ 
ful though very general tradition of its having been the 
scene of the banishment and death of Pontius Pilate. 
It occupies a very fine position on the left bank, over¬ 
looked by the extensive and remarkable ruins of an old 
castle, perched on a craggy rock. I regretted not having 
an opportunity of visiting Vienne and its antiquities, the 
remains of its colonization by the Romans ; but, with 
my face turned towards Rome itself, “ the mighty mother 
of dead empire,” and anticipating a moonlight visit to the 
vast Colosseum, I easily consoled myself. “ Urbem 
quam dicunt Romam,” as the Mantuan poet beautifully 
confesses— 

“ Haec tantum alias inter caput extulit urbes, 

Quantum lenta solent inter viburna cupressi.” 

I was much struck by the scenery of Chateau Bourg, 
and the romantic situation of the old castle itself, which 
overhangs the clear and rapid waters of the river. It 

b 2 












10 


THE RHONE. 


anciently belonged to the Counts of Vallentinois, and 

is still inhabited and kept up by Mons. G-, a wine- 

merchant ; and I little thought, as we passed that evening 
beneath its tower, that I should find in its hospitable 
owner a former friend, and quaff, with hearty good-will, 
a bottle of his best hermitage. Valence is finely situated 
on the left bank of the river: a fine suspension-bridge 
connects it with the opposite side, and, at the distance 
of a mile or two, with the little village of St. Peray, 
famous for its sweet wine, resembling champagne. The 
steamer stopped for the night at Valence. We rejoiced 
in the opportunity of enjoying the rest of the Lord’s day, 
unfortunately so little regarded in this country—I say 
rest, and include in that word recreation; for it might 
almost be questioned which is more opposed to the proper 
observance of the Sabbath as it ought to be by Christians, 
the open disregard manifested by the French, or the 
morose and ascetic deportment required in England, 
where, in the harsh denial of all innocent recreation to 
the people, the legislature has more conformed to Phari¬ 
saic strictness, than to the mild spirit of our Lord’s 
declaration—“ The Sabbath was made for man, and not 
man for the Sabbath.” 

The steamer was detained a considerable time beyond 
the appointed hour, by a dense fog, which quite enveloped 
us. This is a frequent, and one of the many impediments 
to the safe and continued navigation of the Rhone ; and 
altogether, from the delays we ourselves experienced, and 
from all I heard, I would hesitate in recommending tra¬ 
vellers, whose time is limited, or invalids, to take this 
route into Italy. The situation of Valence, and the 
castellated crag of Crusol on the opposite bank of the 
river, will strongly remind the traveller of the romantic 
village of Bingen, on the Rhine. We were now, indeed, 



THE RHONE. 


11 


passing rapidly through the finest scenery of “ the im¬ 
petuous Rhone”— 

“ Its vineyards of such great and old renown— 

Its castles, each with some romantic tale, 

Vanishing fast.” 

The mountains began to close us in : on either hand 
vast masses of rock, thrown together in the wildest and 
most fantastic shapes, at every turn of the river impending 
over its banks, seemed like gigantic portals to deny us 
entrance or exit; while, perched aloft on the steepest 
summit, rose the towers and keeps of feudal castles. 
Nothing can be grander or more imposing than these 
ruins, if so they may be called ; for they still appear 
almost as strong and impregnable as when, in the days 
of Charles Martel, the cross waved defiance from their 
battlements to the Moorish invaders. In number and 
extent, these castles exceed altogether any thing on the 
Rhine ; and he who delights to contemplate a feudal 
castle, and to muse on all the glories of the middle 
ages, should visit the castles of Cruas and Rochemaure, 
on the Rhone. The former of these, overhanging the 
little village of the same name, and which still seems 
to cling to it for protection, is grand in the extreme. 
Its donjon-keep, looped and turreted, connected with a 
vast extent of wall, flanked by tow r ers, all remain entire, 
and carry us back at once to the days of Christian chi¬ 
valry. 

Rochemaure is equally extensive and interesting. It 
was at one time held by the Moors, in common, indeed, 
with a considerable portion of the neighbouring country, 
till Charles Martel and his brave paladins succeeded in 
expelling these formidable invaders from the soil of France. 
Like Cruas, Rochemaure has its keep, perched on an 







12 


THE RHONE. 


inaccessible crag, and connected with the other parts of 
the castle by a great extent of massive walls, flanked 
with towers springing from the very edge of the pre¬ 
cipice. 


“ And there they stand, as stands the lofty mind, 

Worn, but unstooping to the vulgar crowd ; 

All tenantless, save to the crannying wind, 

Or holding dark communion with the cloud.” 

The banks of the Rhone are rich in legendary as 
well as historic lore; and it is strange, and much to be 
regretted, that the English reader is, as yet, so little 
acquainted with either. I have remarked upon the 
wonderful state of preservation in which the feudal 
castles of the Rhone are found; this we may attribute 
to the exceeding dryness of the atmosphere, but this 
circumstance has, at the same time, deprived them of 
the picturesque charm of greenness, so beautifully 
noted by the noble poet I have quoted from, in the 
castles on the Rhine, as— 

“ Breathing stern farewells 

From grey but leafy -walls, where ruin greenly dwells.” 

Early in the afternoon, we passed under the noble 
bridge of St. Esprit, formerly, and indeed even still, 
attended with some danger, but always with much 
excitement, especially to the ladies. The bridge is a 
noble work, spanning the majestic river on sixteen 
arches, each intersected by a smaller one ; it was 
erected by the Brotherhood of St. Esprit, and remains a 
splendid memorial of the power and munificence of the 
ecclesiastical bodies in the middle ages. This once 
powerful order has long been scattered, and their 
beautiful church has a neglected and dilapidated look. 


AYIGNON. 


13 


After considerable delays, being frequently obliged to 
stop the paddles, owing to the low state of the river, 
we arrived at Avignon at six o’clock in the evening. 
Avignon, to the lover of history and romance, must 
ever be one of the most interesting cities of Europe; 
and as we approach it from the Rhone, its venerable 
walls, and great fortified cathedral, towering from 
a gloomy pile of surrounding buildings in the midst 
of the town, accords well with the historical associa¬ 
tions of the place. The town speaks of those times 
when the aspiring sons of the Gallican Church here, 
assumed the papacy, and rent all Europe with the 
rival contentions of popes and anti-popes. The papal 
court was seated at Avignon for seventy years, and it 
still, everywhere, retains traces of their residence. So 
attached did these French pontiffs become to Avignon, 
that they were not satisfied till they had purchased it 
from the unfortunate Joanna, Queen of Naples. In 
the extremity of her misfortunes, she was induced to 
sever this splendid town from her county of Provence, 
and to cede all her sovereign rights to it- over to 
Clement VI., for a sum of eighty thousand florins of 
gold. It was this pontiff who erected, in Avignon, that 
great palace, unique of the kind in Europe, and whose 
solid and fortress-like style of architecture is so charac¬ 
teristic of the times in which it was built. 

Nothing could exceed the magnificence and luxury 
that reigned here during the residence of the popes, 
equalled only by the wide-spread and general im¬ 
morality that characterised the inhabitants of Avignon. 
Petrarch himself, in one of his sonnets, gives us a vivid 
idea of the state of manners there in his day— 

“ Nido di tradimenti, in cui si cova 
Quante mal per lo mondo ozzi si span ie 













14 


AVIGNON. 


Di vin serva, di letti e di vivande 
In cui lussuria fal’ultima prova— 

Per le camere tue fanciulle e vecchii 
Vanno trescando.” 

We see little of this luxury now in Avignon, but still its 
women, with their head-gear of velvet, and something of 
their gracefulness, exhibit much of the beauty for which 
they were once so distinguished; but, alas! we have 
little to remind us of that elegance and luxury of which 
Avignon was the abode in the middle ages. I have 
never traversed dirtier or narrower streets than in tread¬ 
ing our devious way to the Hotel Europe; in dirt, and 
the number and the originality of its smells, it rivals 
the famous Cologne itself. We got, however, very 
comfortable rooms at that excellent hotel, the Europe ; 
and I have only to add my testimony to that of all the 
travelling world, as to the attention and politeness of 
the amiable maitresse. 

Circumstances required that we should prosecute our 
journey into Italy without delay; but having a strong 
desire to visit Arles, one of the most ancient and in¬ 
teresting towns in Europe, and situated lower down 
the Rhone, I was glad to hear that, by prosecuting 
our journey on the following morning to Arles by the 
river-steamer, we would be in time for a large steamer 
which plies," occasionally, between that place and Mar¬ 
seilles, and so would be able to avoid altogether a land 
journey of ten or eleven hours. 



ARLES. 


15 


CHAPTER II. 


Arles, its Antiquities and Ruins—Marseilles and the Mediterranean. 


According to the plan I have just mentioned, we 
started from Avignon early in the morning, by the 
steamer, for Arles. All the beauty of the Rhone ceases 
at Avignon; the banks become wild and arid, without 
any interesting object to relieve their sterile monotony. 
We stopped for a short time at Beaucair, to put mer¬ 
chandize on shore, the transport of which is, on the 
Rhone, the primary object with the steam companies. 

Beaucair is a place of some note, and one of the 
greatest annual fairs in the south of France is still 
held there. It was returning from this fair, that the 
celebrated Roman Catholic saint, Vincent of Paul, was 
taken captive by pirates, and sold as a slave in Bar¬ 
bary. We arrived at Arles before noon. 

To the scholar and the archaeologist, Arles must be 
one of the most interesting cities existing. It is just 
the place an antiquarian would love to bury himself in. 
Alike eloquent of Roman dominion—of the early his¬ 
tory of the Christian Church, as well as of the feu¬ 
dalism of the middle ages. The modern inhabitants 
seem to burrow in those antique ruins, out of which 
they have constructed their houses, with very little 
alteration of their ancient character. 

The Hotel du Nord, where we put up, abuts on a 





16 


ARLES. 


Roman archway, with Corinthian columns, while a great 
part of the old town lies buried under ground, but so 
near the surface, that my first walk convinced me of 
the truth of the saying “ Ditior Arleas sepulta quam 
viva.” Arelatum or Arelas, was, in the times of the 
Romans, the seat of government, and a favorite place 
of resort to the luxurious masters of the world. So 
splendid were its streets and buildings, that it was 
called by them Gallica Roma. It numbered one hun¬ 
dred thousand inhabitants, and enrolled emperors amongst 
its citizens. Constantine the Great is said to have 
had a palace there ; it was the grand entrepot of com¬ 
merce and civilization, as well as the chief and earliest 
seat of Christianity amongst the Gauls. It became the 
metropolis of an archbishop, who was both primate 
and prince. 

Amongst the ruins of Arles and instar omnium is the 
celebrated amphitheatre, one of the greatest and most 
perfect works of the Romans that remains to us ; it 
is said to have been constructed in the time of the 
Emperor Probus, and gave room to 24,000 spectators. 
It is of an elliptic form, evidently designed after the 
great Flavian Amphitheatre at Rome. Nothing in the 
way of a ruin can give us a greater or more impres¬ 
sive idea of the power and magnificence of the Romans, 
than this vast amphitheatre at Arles. We are pre¬ 
pared for such buildings in Rome itself; but this 
mighty monument was erected in a distant province, 
when their Empire was rapidly declining—torn by civil 
discord, and invaded by barbarous enemies. And yet 
what grandeur, and, above all, what solidity ! It looks 
as if the old Roman spirit was not even then extinct, 
but that in the most desperate times, as when their 
senate voted thanks to the defeated Consul, “ because 


ARLES. 


17 


he did not despair of the fortunes of Rome,” they 
built for all time, still believing in their poets, that 
their empire was co-existent with the world. Like 
the Colosseum, the amphitheatre at Arles has been 
frequently converted into a fortress, and during the 
terrible incursions of the Saracens, or Devils, as they 
are called in the old chronicles (the words being sy¬ 
nonymous in their writings), it served as a citadel and 
last asylum to the wretched people of Arles, during 
the many sieges they endured from their Moslem inva¬ 
ders. An old cross in one of the streets of the town, 
called the Croix de Mauro, and the Chapel of St. 
Michael, were erected to record the defeat of the Sara¬ 
cens, and to consecrate the deliverance of the people 
of Arles. In the amphitheatre are two large towers, 
said to have been erected by Charles Martel, but which, 
however interesting in other respects, sadly disfigure, 
and interfere with the effect of this noble building. 

Near to the Hotel de Ville (a very fine edifice for 
decayed and fallen Arles), in the Place Royale—what 
town in France has not such a place ?—stands a re¬ 
markable monolyth obelisk of red granite, which was 
dug up from the amphitheatre, where it anciently stood 
in the midst of the arena: indeed, the amphitheatre 
of Arles, like the Colosseum at Rome, long served as 
the general stone-quarry and magazine for building ma¬ 
terials, to the modern inhabitants. It has now, however, 
its guard, and is defended from further depredation ; 
but for all that remains of the rich marbles and sculp¬ 
ture that adorned its interior, we must, as likewise at 
Rome, seek them out in the adjacent churches. The 
bishops and priests were naturally amongst the most 
active agents in carrying into effect the decrees of the 
newly-converted Emperors, against the heathen rites and 





18 


ARLES. 


temples; and in the first heat of their indignation and zeal, 
their devastation was indiscriminating and relentless. But 
with the complete extinction of Paganism, and perma¬ 
nent establishment of Christianity, this fury abated, and 
another generation of ecclesiastics perceived it more saga¬ 
cious to adapt the ancient edifices to the Christian rites, 
or, where that was not practicable, to build new churches 
with their rich materials; nor were they at all fastidious, 
or restricted by architectural uniformity, in the work of 
adaptation; the traveller must not, therefore, be sur¬ 
prised to find a strange combination of orders, or if 
he is shewn, in a Gothic niche, for a Christian saint, a 
togaed Roman. 

In pursuance, perhaps, of the same policy that dic¬ 
tated the remarkable letter of Pope Gregory to the 
apostle of the Anglo-Saxons, quoted in Hume, the 
monks erected a monastery within the amphitheatre, 
which was all destroyed at the Revolution. The cathe¬ 
dral at Arles is a Gothic building, not particularly re¬ 
markable either for extent or style. Indeed the Gothic 
of the churches at Arles and Tarascon, and through Pro¬ 
vence (if Gothic they really be,) are so submodo; for 
they struck me as very different from the buildings to 
which we give that name. This difference is most 
striking in their exterior, but they generally, in their 
construction, partake of the symbolism so interesting 
and peculiar a feature of Gothic architecture. 

A chapel in the cathedral, called, I think, the Chapel 
of the Kings, caught our attention, and particularly a 
marble tablet, representing the Assumption of the Blessed 
Virgin, in which the attitudes and surprise of the as¬ 
sembled apostles are executed with much spirit and 
beauty : but it is the cloisters of the adjacent church 
of St. Trophimo that will most delight the archaeologist. 


MARSEILLES. 


19 


They are adorned with slender columns of the purest 
marble, enriched with capitals of the Corinthian order, 
most probably torn from the amphitheatre, when it was 
dismantled. The weather being fearfully tempestuous, 
we determined to abandon our project of waiting for 
the steamer, whose sailing to Marseilles, we found, is 
always uncertain, and contingent on favourable weather; 
and getting post-horses, set off for Aix and Marseilles. 
We had been much interested with Arles, but the plea¬ 
sure was, it must be confessed, diminished, by consi¬ 
dering the distance we came out of our way to visit 
it; and in no very agreeable mood, we took our leave 
of its old crumbling walls, and pursued our way by 
Tarascon, through a flat, and very uninteresting country. 

With no ordinary feelings of pleasure, after a long 
and fatiguing journey, we at length beheld Marseilles, 
and “ the glad waters of the dark blue sea,” promising 
us an easy passage into Italy. Dr. Johnson has said 
that the Mediterranean would form the noblest subject 
conceivable for an epic poem, and no educated man can 
behold it, considering the mighty events which have 
passed upon its shores, without a feeling of deep emotion. 
But to me it had even more than ordinary interest, for 
it recalled scenes and years long gone by. 

Greece—the land of Greece, with the clustering islands 
of the blue iEgean—the deserted fanes of Athens—the 
marble steps of Sunium—all that I had too idly gazed 
upon in youth, seemed again before me, as I beheld 
the blue waves of this glorious sea. Anxious to get 
into our winter quarters in Italy, we embarked next day, 
on board the “ Leonidas,” a French government-steamer, 
for Leghorn. 






20 


LEGHORN. 


CHAPTER III. 


Leghorn—Pisa—Aspect of the Country—The Duorao—Road to Florence—Tuscan 
Peasantry—Distaste of the Italian Nobility to a Country Life—First Impressions 
on Arriving in Florence. 

On coming on deck, the second morning after leaving 
Marseilles, we found ourselves passing the island of 
Gorgona, and discerned the towers of Leghorn, the 
oldest free port of the Mediterranean. In a little time 
we had passed the roadstead, and entered this curious 
old harbour, which, according to the old plans of the 
port, seems to be little changed from what it was in 
the days of the Medici. The town, however, is rapidly 
extending, and, under the enlightened government of 
Tuscany, its trade and commerce seem to be flourishing. 
Still it was necessity, more than any natural advantages 
it possessed, that pointed out Livorno to the merchant 
princes of Florence. Its port is inadequate to its ex¬ 
isting trade, and its roadstead, without a breakwater, 
must always continue insecure. 

Near the landing-place, at the Port, is the statue of 
Ferdinand I., with the four bronze slaves in chains, the 
celebrated work of Pietro Tacca, the erection of which 
has been so justly and severely animadverted upon by 
Forsyth. It had been well for the memory of the 
Grand Duke that his triumph over the Turkish galleys, 
as well as his barbarous treatment of the four Turkish 
prisoners of distinction, said to be represented in these 
bronze slaves, had been buried in oblivion. To this 
monument, however, the religious hatred and fanaticism 


MONTE NERO. 


21 


of the times, as well as Ferdinand’s ducal pride and arro¬ 
gance, largely contributed. 

The Grand Master of St. Stephano naturally con¬ 
ceived, according to the spirit of the age, that, as a 
Christian knight, he could not be more suitably placed, 
than above chained and prostrate Mussulmen; nor should 
we be surprised that these feelings were not displayed 
alone in inanimate bronze or marble. Whatever may 
have been the generous chivalry of the old crusaders, 
certain it is, that the warlike orders invariably exhi¬ 
bited towards their Mussulmen enemies, the most in¬ 
veterate cruelty. 

The Knights of St. Stephano were not behind the 
Knights Templars and Knights of Malta in holy zeal, 
and hatred of the Paynim, although their warfare against 
the Turks, including the achievements of this Grand 
Duke himself, were little better than piratical expedi¬ 
tions. Apropos of pirates—in walking through the 
crowded Via San Ferdinando, in which were mingled 
the crafty Greek and the turbaned Turk, while sus¬ 
pended across the street swung the announcement of 
the opera, I could not help thinking of the misfortunes 
of that unhappy company, which 

“ In sailing from Livorno, by the pirate 
Were taken, and sold, by the Impressario, at no high rate.” 

Leghorn possesses little that is interesting to detain 
the traveller. He, however, who is desirous of under¬ 
standing to what extent Marianism, or the worship of 
the Madonna, has been carried in Italy, should pay a 
visit to the celebrated Church of the Madonna di Monte- 
nero, situated on the dark brow of a headland which 
overlooks the sea, a few miles from Leghorn. In 
sanctity and veneration, it is next to the Church of 






22 


MONTE NERO. 


Loretto ; crowds of pilgrims, as well as the halt, lame, 
and blind, from all parts of Italy, throng its courts on 
the great festival days ; while the mariner, who sees from 
afar its sacred height, or passes beneath it, forgets not 
to honour with a royal salute, “la sacra effigie.” All im¬ 
plore its aid and protection, nor implore in vain, equally 
for the miraculous recovery of the afflicted, or the escape 
of the shipwrecked sailor— 

“Tabula Sacer 
Yotiva paries indicat.” 

Indeed, the entire walls of the church are covered with 
these votive tablets, and offerings of the most incongruous 
and singular character, and amongst other things, the 
musket or stiletto of the conscience-stricken brigand. 
While lamenting the errors of superstition, we are glad 
to find that, in the absence of a purer faith, it can some¬ 
times succeed in deterring, if not in converting, the guilty. 

Wonderful are the various legends of the discovery 
of this miraculous image of the Madonna. It is said, 
like the statue of the Ephesian goddess, to have fallen 
from heaven ; and, after an abortive attempt, on the 
part of the people of Leghorn, to place it in their city, 
to have made a miraculous escape to Monte Nero—here 
it was enshrined with great pomp. 

The story is extant, and written in very choice Italian, 
and may be easily obtained by the curious in such matters— 

“ But Arno wins us to the fair white walls, 

Where the Etrurian Athens claims and keeps 
A softer feeling for her fairy halls.” 

There are two roads from Leghorn to Florence, but 
that by Pisa is the one which every judicious traveller 
would wish to take. Impatient as he may be to behold 


ns a. 


23 


“ Firenze la bella,” its galleries and museums, he will 
not be unwilling to pay a passing visit to its ancient rival, 
to tread the sacred soil of the Carnpo Santo, and to 
muse in its vacant and deserted streets, on the departed 
glories of this renowned republic—nor will he be disap¬ 
pointed, deserted and gloomy as it is. Pisa has preserved 
in its decay an air of metropolitan magnificence, more 
striking, perhaps, than that of any of the old towns of 
Italy. As we walk along its noble quays and bridges, or 
contemplate the splendour of its cathedral and baptistry, 
we are impressed with the conviction that Pisa was once 
the capital of a powerful state; and such, indeed, it 
was—the rival of “ Genoa the Superb”—numbering 
within its walls a hundred thousand inhabitants, alike 
distinguished for their commercial enterprise and va¬ 
lour. Her victorious fleets rode triumphant in the 
Mediterranean, and carried their conquests even to 
Constantinople and the Holy City. But, alas ! all this 
glory has long since passed away—-her palaces have 
crumbled to decay—her habitations have shrunk from 
the wide extended walls, and Pisa now scarcely num¬ 
bers sixteen thousand inhabitants. Its large, wide 
streets have, in their splendour, an air of sadness, that 
the traveller strives in vain to shake off; “ thick com¬ 
ing fancies,” alike conjured up by the muse of Dante 
and the story of Count Ugolino, that saddest episode 
in all the woes of his Inferno, or suggested by the 
fading frescoes of Orcagnos’ “ Triumph of Death,” 
crowd upon his mind, and heighten his melancholy, 
as he paces the grass-grown^ streets, or the arcades of 

* The reader must remember that these remarks were written before the 
railway existed between Leghorn and Pisa. A great change, I have 
heard, has been produced in the aspect of the latter city, as everywhere 
else, by this mighty power. 





24 


PISA. 


the Campo Santo; and yet, Pisa is the city in which the 
poet, the artist, and the moralist love to dwell; here 
Byron lived and mused, and found all his sympathies 
and genius awakened; Genoa, Venice, Ravenna, and 
Pisa were his chosen places of abode in Italy, and 
they were all suited to his muse. No town in Italy 
contributed more largely to the revival of learning in 
Europe than Pisa; civil jurisprudence was here so suc¬ 
cessfully cultivated, that the sons of the most distinguish¬ 
ed statesmen in Europe enrolled themselves as pupils in 
its famous University. To the artist, Pisa must ever 
be, in the highest degree, interesting ; in the paintings 
and mosaiques of the Duomo and Baptistry, he traces 
the Byzantine origin of his art, while the neighbouring 
arcades of the Campo Santo furnish him with the most 
remarkable works that remain to us, of the first masters of 
Italian painting. Nor are the celebrated frescoes only 
deserving the attention of the artist ; the philosopher 
and antiquarian will find in them equal matter for reflec¬ 
tion and inquiry, illustrating, as they do, the religious 
opinions, as well as the manners and customs of a most 
interesting period of history. On the whole, perhaps 
there are few places in Europe that, within the same space, 
contain an equal amount of monumental magnificence, or 
historic interest, as that immediately surrounding the 
Duomo of Pisa. The great pile, itself glistening with 
polished and variegated marbles, the gorgeous Baptistry 
and Leaning Tower, of the same rich materials and style 
with the sacred precincts of the Campo Santo, and the 
venerable walls of the university, are all seen at once by 
the traveller, as he stands in the silent and grass-grown 
enclosure of the Piazza del Duomo. 

But, although the coup d'ceil is so effective in point 
of style and architecture, all these buildings are open 


PISA. 


25 


to criticism; and no correct eye can be satisfied with 
the Duomo. Its naked Latin cross, and great lateral 
walls, unadorned by columns or pilasters, are badly 
relieved by this patchwork display of chequered marble. 
This does not so much displease us in the Baptistry; 
its rotund form and elegant lantern, give it an air of 
classic grace and lightness, in spite of this lavish and 
vulgar load of ornament. As to the Leaning Tower, if 
the general belief of its having been built, thus deviating 
from the centre, was true, it would be an architectural 
monstrosity ; but there is little doubt that it owes its 
inclination to a lapse in the foundation ; and, as it is, 
the effect is more curious than admirable. There 
can be no beauty, at all events, in architecture, without 
fitness and proportion; still, as an object, it is almost 
sufficiently strange to account for its popular rank among 
the seven wonders of the world—if, indeed, in this age 
of wonders, we dare to allude to so humiliating an 
enumeration. By ascending the tower, one is best enabled 
to estimate the extent of its departure from the perpen¬ 
dicular ; and, at the same time, to enjoy a magnificent 
view of Pisa and the neighbouring country. To give 
any detailed account of the interior of the Duomo of 
Pisa, or indeed of the churches of Italy generally, would 
be an endless task ; all that human art, wealth, and 
an abundance of the richest materials can effect, has 
there been abundantly lavished ; but has the moral effect 
produced been commensurate with the prodigious outlay ? 
What was the moral effect intended ? I will not 
believe that all this grandeur and magnificence was 
merely intended to dazzle and awe mankind into sub¬ 
mission to ecclesiastical authority, however largely 
these feelings may have predominated in the churchmen 
of the middle ages. JNo doubt the zealous fuunders of 


c 






26 


PISA. 


these vast and splendid edifices, intended them “to the 
glory of Godbut we cannot help feeling, at the same 
time, the painful conviction, that their zeal was misdi¬ 
rected. It was consistent, and in accordance with the 
ministry of the Jewish church (one of rites and cere¬ 
monies), that their temple, by its extent and magni¬ 
ficence, should afford all the proper accessories for 
their becoming exercise ; however, “ the law was 
but the shadow of good things to come;” and, under 
the Christian dispensation, a more spiritual and simple 
form of worship of God is required. Man cannot 
raise a temple worthy of God—the attempt is worse 
than vanity ; “ He dwelleth not in temples made with 
hands,” but, as Hooker, I think, eloquently expresses 
it, “ He condescendeth to dwell in the heart of the 
humble believer.” Let us consider, for a moment, what 
a vast number of Christian churches might have been 
erected, in different parts of the world, “ where the 
poor might have had the gospel preached to them,” at 
the cost of St. Peter's alone—and oh! how different 
would have been the result! What a different spectacle 
would not our world, and the human race, at this day- 
exhibit ? But the retributive justice of that Spirit rvhich 
speaketh to the churches, is sure and exemplary; and, 
in the instance of St. Peter’s, instar omnium , its judg¬ 
ment has been severe and striking. That building, which 
the Roman pontiffs designed, in the intoxication of their 
power, to be a “mother church”—a centre of unity for 
the prayers and offerings of congregating nations— 
was the immediate cause of the Reformation, which tore 
some of the most powerful states of Europe from their 
grasp; and, while vindicating the insulted liberties of 
mankind, has given them again, as at the beginning, 
that which alone can make them free or happy—-the 


PISA. 


27 


inspired word of God. It is remarkable, that since the 
Reformation, nowhere in Europe, not even in Italy itself, 
have such colossal edifices for Christian worship been 
erected ; indeed, in this country, the exterior of many 
churches, erected long before the Reformation, remain 
to this day unfinished. Some lament over this, as a 
proof of the decay of piety in modern times ; an opinion 
which, unless we confound superstition with religion, 
is contradicted by history and the present state of the 
Christian world; of course I exclude the apostolic era. 
None of these vast and imposing edifices trace their 
origin from this period. The views and feelings of the 
first preachers of the gospel were of another and very 
different character from their aspiring successors ; and 
in the Scriptures which they have left, so far are we 
from finding any encouragement to such undertakings, 
that I do not believe that the term “ church,” in the 
modern signification, as applied to a building, will be 
found throughout the entire of the New Testament. 
With them the church was the company of believers, 
themselves “ the living stones,” fitly joined together, of 
that heavenly building, to extend and strengthen which, 
they devoted their lives. 

I do not mean to deny that the effect produced on 
the spectator, as he paces the splendid aisles of the 
Italian cathedrals, admiring on all sides the treasures 
and masterpieces of painting and sculpture, is great 
and striking, nay, often-—when sacred music adds its 
potent spell—solemn and overpowering in the extreme; 
yet, when the affecting ceremonial has ceased, and we 
have passed from the gilded roof and towering cupola, 
and have time to analyze our emotions, we perceive that 
they were as much, if not more, the result of enthusiasm, 
and admiration of the wondrous and imposing combination 


/ 







28 


ROAD TO FLORENCE. 


of human art, as of religious feeling. The senses may 
have been affected, the imagination excited, but the soul 
has not been satisfied, and we turn away with the con¬ 
viction, that God is, indeed, “ a Spirit,” and that “ they 
who worship Him, must worship Him in spirit and in 
truth.” Such, at least, have been my impressions, when 
visiting the great churches of Italy; and, in these days 
of compromise and desertion, I think it right to state 
them here, in limine , but henceforth— 

“Non ragionamo di loro 
Ma guarda e passa.” 

The road from Pisa to Florence lies through a rich 
and beautiful country. On every side we see indica¬ 
tions of prosperous industry. Even in England, we 
feould not meet with neater or more substantial farm¬ 
houses. The farms are very small, but the variety and 
extent of the crops are quite extraordinary. 

The Contadini of Tuscany are altogether a superior 
race. Frugal and intelligent, simple, and yet highly 
civilized, their manners mingle self-possession and inde¬ 
pendence with a natural politeness. The women, in 
particular, are remarkable for their graceful deportment; 
and, as the young Contadina passes us by, with her broad 
Tuscan bonnet shading her pale forehead and dark lan¬ 
guishing eyes, her well-proportioned neck, bound with 
strings of pearl, and a wrought fazzoletta heightening, 
while attempting to conceal, the beauty of her form, 
we find it hard to believe that so graceful a creature 
is not some noble damsel, who has assumed, to take 
part in a pastoral, the costume of a shepherdess. Until 
we approach Florence, we do not meet with many villas 
belonging to the higher orders. Country life (as it is 
understood with us) does not exist in Italy; although 


ROAD TO FLORENCE. 29 

the Tuscan nobility have a greater taste that way than 
any of the rest of the Italian nobility. But a villigiatura 
of six weeks, during the vintage, is, in general, quite 
sufficient to satisfy all their bucolic inclinations. This 
is to be lamented; for it is amongst the Italian peasantry 
that we in general must look for all that remains of the 
ancient virtues of the country. At the same time, it 
is remarkable that a taste for rural life (except in the 
early ages of the Roman republic) was never the charac¬ 
teristic of the patricians, or higher orders of Italy. The 
muse of Virgil was expressly invited by his imperial patron 
to sing the charms of the country, and to dignify the 
operations of agriculture—“ Cultus arvorum et sidera 
coeli;” while Horace, with the same view, not only sang, 
in melodious verse, the pleasures of his Sabine farm, 
but often assembled under his humble roof the most 
eminent men of Rome. Still, the senators and upper 
orders generally continued to prefer an indolent sojourn 
amidst the crowded villas of Tusculum, or the rocks 
of Baia, to engaging in the active pursuits of agriculture, 
or adopting any permanent residence in the country. 
The land was in general farmed out as at present—the 
rents being a fixed amount of the produce. Nor was 
there a greater disposition for a country life evinced in 
the modern Italian republics. The citizens of Florence, 
and the other great cities of Italy, felt that they derived 
their liberties from their union and commerce, which 
could only be maintained by their association in towns ; 
and therefore, on principle, discouraged isolated settle¬ 
ments in the country. The different little states were 
crowded with walled towns, teeming with population, 
who, without abandoning the habits and feelings of citi¬ 
zens, tilled the neighbouring fields; and thus it was, 
that, in the midst of feudal tyranny, and assailed by the 






30 


ROAD TO FLORENCE. 


armies of the most powerful sovereigns, they acquired 
and preserved their freedom, and reached a point ol 
glory and magnificence unexampled, if Ave except the 
states of Greece, in the history of the world. Indeed, 
while we are accustomed to laud the virtues and occu¬ 
pations of a country life, we are obliged to acknowledge 
that mankind are indebted for all that has elevated and 
ameliorated their condition, to their association and citi¬ 
zenship in towns. 

Pursuing the course of the Arno, the approach 
to Florence is very beautiful. Hills, crowned with 
venerable convents, or picturesque-looking villas—their 
white gleaming walls contrasting with the melancholy 
cypresses that surround them—meet the eye of the 
stranger, as he wends his way past woods of olive, 
and teeming vineyards, till at length the beautiful tower of 
the Campanile, and the great cupola of the Duomo, with 
Fiesole, made so memorable to Englishmen by the muse 
of Milton and Gray, and that beautiful theatre of hills, 
studded with villas, which surrounds Florence, and from 
which it derives its greatest beauty, burst together on 
his sight, as he enters the suburbs of this most interesting 
city, styled, even by its rivals, “ the Athens of Italy.” 
When, however, we have passed the gates, it must be 
confessed that the first feeling of the stranger is disap¬ 
pointment. He is not prepared for the dark streets and 
gloomy-looking piles, whether churches or palaces, that 
meet him on every side. We are wont to associate 
with the name of Florence all that is charming and 
poetical, and, as they say themselves, allegro; and all 
this we may find ; but it is in Florence without the 
walls—it is amidst the hills where Lorenzo lived and 
Politian wrote, that we' must look for those beautiful 
scenes so deliciously described by Boccacio. It w r as so 


ROAD TO FLORENCE. 


31 


even in the days of Ariosto, when he uttered the well- 
known remark, that if the palaces scattered over the hills 
round Florence were concentrated within one wall, two 
Romes could not vie with her. As it is, notwithstanding 
the raptures of Lady Morgan, on entering the Porta San 
Gallo (certainly the most imposing entrance, although 
sadly out of keeping with the general architecture of 
the town), I am satisfied that the impression of most 
travellers, on entering Florence, will be that of disap¬ 
pointment; and this feeling will be increased, if, like 
ourselves, they have come direct from the joyous cities 
of France. Our sombre mood was not dispelled by the 
gloomy aspect of the Hotel d’Europe, which, retaining 
its dim grated windows and turreted walls, has by no 
means an hospitable or inviting appearance; but to the 
student of Italian history, these sombre streets and mas¬ 
sive, gloomy palaces, are only doubly interesting: they 
are eloquent of the times in which they were erected— 
they recall the conflicts of Guelphs and Ghibelines, the 
struggle and emulation of contending parties, or the 
terrible events of domestic hatred. Many towns in Italy 
are more beautiful than Florence; but none is so charac¬ 
teristic of its own history, of the Italian republics, and the 
middle ages. 




3 2 


FLORENCE. 


CHAPTER IV. 


General prosperity of Tuscany—Agriculture—Its advanced state in this part of Italy—- 
Division of Italy into so many different States—Coincidence of the Architectural 
with the Historical Character of Florence—Extreme veneration manifested for 
departed Genius by the Italians. 


Nothing in Florence and Tuscany is more striking than 
the prevailing comfort, nay, opulence, which on all sides 
salutes the traveller. If Italy be the garden of Europe, 
Tuscany is certainly the garden of Italy; but it is a 
garden which owes its beauty and luxuriance to patient 
cultivation. A great portion of its surface is occupied 
by mountains and marshes—-the former offering but 
small and poor tracts of land capable of being culti¬ 
vated ; and the latter, though, during winter, they sup¬ 
port herds of cattle and sheep, yet, during summer, they 
are unhealthy, and obliged to be abandoned. The art 
of good farming is promoted, not alone practically, but 
theoretically ; and every improvement in agriculture is 
liberally rewarded by the state; and in farming societies 
and agricultural prizes, Florence may now nearly vie 
with either England or Scotland. The lands capable, in 
the smallest degree, of cultivation, are well cultivated; 
and it is in this respect that Tuscany may be called 
the garden of Italy. In these days of railroads and 
steamboats, one glides, or rather steams, most unpoeti- 
cally through the world; and France, losing each year, 
as she does, so much of her nationality, one scarcely 


FLORENCE. 


33 


feels they have left England, till they discover them¬ 
selves in Central Italy, and find they have exchanged 
the harsh tones of our native tongue for the melodious 
sounds of the Tuscan dialect. National characteristics 
will, perhaps, therefore stand out in bolder relief, and 
be more apparent to the traveller who enters Italy in 

the very prosaic way in which we did, than to those 

who, entering it by land, become more gradually, but 
less strikingly, aware of the change in external things. 
It does not, however, require a very attentive observer 
to perceive that, in Italy, each city has its own proper 
characteristic, as well in its population as in its public 
buildings. This marked difference arises, no doubt, in 
a great degree, from the division of the country into 
separate states. To keep Italy divided, has been the 

constant aim of her rulers, and, divide and reign, the 

maxim of all alliances, whether holy or unholy; and this 
disjunction has passed even into the feelings of her 
people. A native of Italy does not call himself an 
Italian, but designates himself after that particular city 
or petty state where he was born. Forsyth caustically 
remarks, that the only bond of union among Italians is 
“ their mutual hatred of each other.” It is this feeling 
of dislike, or at least distrust of each other, which has 
prevented Italy from rising to national independence. 
Even the simple question, the settlement of a capital, 
will, I fear, offer a serious obstacle to any simultaneous 
and cordial effort for freedom among her people. There 
results from this great evil, however, a source of increased 
and varied interest to the traveller, who merely seeks 
amusement and the gratification of curiosity. Carrying 
out this position, I would say, that Florence has a style 
peculiarly her own This has given birth to an order 
of architecture denominated Tuscan, and whose charac- 

c 2 







84 


FLORENCE. 


teristics are, solidity, regularity, and severity. The old 
Florentine palaces resemble, externally, fortresses more 
than palaces. They recall, most vividly, the stormy times 
of the middle ages, when liberty, bursting from the tetters 
which had for many centuries bound her, was as yet badly 
defined, and often degenerated into licence , and when 
private rights were defended more by the sword than by 
laic . But if the middle ages and its monuments want 
the interest attached to high antiquity, they retrace to 
us manners and customs in which we can better sympa¬ 
thise. The men of this period were Christian; and, 
however deformed by bigotry and superstition, they held 
a common faith with us; their laws and customs, though 
cast in a ruder mould, gave birth to ours—for, happily, 
born and educated in a free country, the Florence of the 
middle ages offers many a link of sympathy. How is 
the interest attached to the magnificent Sala of the Pa¬ 
lazzo Vecchio enhanced, by knowing that this was the 
place of meeting, when Florence was free ; and that here 
one thousand of her citizens could assemble for debate ? 
The beautiful Loggia of Orcagna, too, in the Piazza del 
Gran Duca, was the tribune for her orators, when the citi¬ 
zens took part in her public affairs. In later times, when 
the ambition of her merchant princes subverted her free 
institutions, it served as a dais to the Medici in their 
splendid fetes. Now, alas! strange sport of time and 
fortune, it is used for the drawing of the lottery ! But 
not alone do her palaces recall the departed glories of 
the Florence of the middle ages. Who can view un¬ 
moved the roofs which sheltered genius ? Every person 
capable of feeling or comprehending their immortal works, 
must view with interest the humbler dwellings which once 
belonged to a Dante, a Michael Angelo, and a Machia- 
velli. Florence is upbraided with having been ungrateful 


FLORENCE. 


35 


to her great men ; and her treatment of Dante, Petrarch, 
and Galileo, with too much truth affixes the stigma. But 
we should make some allowance for the clouds and mists 
of prejudice engendered by faction. How few of our own 
great men have, during life, met their just meed of ad¬ 
miration ? It is, perhaps, one of the ingredients of genius, 
to disregard the petty arts which insure present popularity, 
the truckling to the prejudices and passions of the hour, 
and to live more in the future than in the present. But 
the Florentines of to-day would seem to wish to wipe out 
this stain attached to their ancestors, by the almost reli¬ 
gious care with which they preserve all that remains to 
remind them of their great men. Their domestic dwellings 
are preserved with a degree of veneration which descends 
even to the minutest details ; and gorgeous monuments to 
their honor have been erected in the Pantheon of modern 
Florence, the Church of Santa Croce, even when their 
bones, as in the case of Dante and Petrarch, moulder in 
another land. We are forcibly struck by the similarity 
of this conduct to that of the Jews, whom our Lord so 
bitterly reproached for their treatment of the prophets— 
“ Your fathers killed the prophets, and ye build their 
sepulchres.” This veneration for departed genius is not 
confined to the Florentines, but is an obviously striking 
trait in the character of all Italians ; and in proportion to 
their present degradation, so is their respect for their 
mighty names of old. They still have some memory of 
the past to love and call their own; and this is a feeling 
which is not confined, as with us, to the educated and 
enlightened, but is equally shared by the peasant and 
the prince. 






36 


FLORENCE. 


CHAPTER V. 


Galleries of Florence—The “ Venus de Medicis,” and the “ Venus” of Canova—Paintings 
in the Palazzo Pitti—Churches of Florence—Michael Angelo’s “ Day and Night”— 
Academy of the Belle Arti—Palaces—Profusion of Flowers in Florence. 


Florence may justly be proud, of her gallery of por¬ 
traits of great masters, but her treasure, par excellence , 
is the so-called “ Medicean Venus.” I confess I had the 
temerity to admire excessively the “ Venus” of Canova, 
notwithstanding the proximity of her far-famed rival. 
The work of Cleomenes is, perhaps, as it is said to be, 
a goddess , but Canova attempts no more than the true, 
but highly poetical representation of a very lovely woman. 
He has given us no servile copy, but has rather embodied 
the pure emanation of a pure mind, in a female form. 
The Grecian sculptor has, perhaps, personified the de¬ 
scription of his own poets, and the result is apparent 
in the impression left on the mind of an unprejudiced 
person—in a word, it is, perhaps, possible, that one might 
turn away from the Grecian Venus, “ drunk with beauty,” 
as Byron has said, but still, this is a moral intoxication. 
The “Venus” of Canova does not aspire to such’an over¬ 
weening share of admiration; she is a something rather 
to be loved. Perhaps, taken as a whole, the gallery of the 
Palazzo Pitti is the most magnificent collection of paintings 
in the world, and the rooms which contain them are worthy 


FLORENCE. 


37 


of such treasures of art. Here is to be seen the so-called 
“ Madonna della Seggiola,” the capo d’opera, in that style, 
of the immortal Raffaelle. There is, in an adjoining- 
room, a “ Madonna and Child” of Murillo’s, which, were it 
not that the universal voice of criticism has assigned the 
hist place to the work of Pcaffaelle, might bid fair to 
challenge comparison. To those, however, who, like 
myself, look to works of art only with reference to their 
effects upon the feelings, and who either do not un¬ 
derstand or regard the mechanical means by which these 
effects are produced, the “ Madonna” of Murillo cannot 
fail to be deeply interesting. The painter has represented 
the mother of our Lord, at an age almost infantine in 
its girlishness, yet no one can mistake the look of deep 
tenderness with which she regards the babe, whose hand 
calmly rests on her bosom, for a mother s glance of love. 
This “Madonna” possesses, besides, a combination, which 
the same subject has never conveyed so clearly to me 
before, viz., the simplicity , nay, humility , of her earthly 
condition, with a consciousness of the dignity of the high 
office to which she had been, by a mysterious Providence, 
ordained. There is another painting of the same subject, in 
the gallery, by Murillo, but though possessing the gorgeous¬ 
ness of colouring of the Spanish masters, it has not the 
happy and touching union of tenderness and dignity which 
my favorite possesses. Of the churches of Florence, not 
much can be said. The most interesting is the Santa 
Croce, not from its architectural beauty, for it possesses 
none, but for the mausoleums of illustrious Florentines, to 
which justice could only be done by the glowing and 
eloquent description of a Corinna. The principal church 
of Florence, the Duomo, though one of the largest 
churches in Europe, and possessing much historical in¬ 
terest, is hardly an exception to the general character of 







38 


FLORENCE. 


the Florentine churches—its naked walls are almost 
denuded of either paintings or statues; and, externally, 
its coating of coloured marbles renders it, perhaps, rather 
quaint than magnificent. The cupola, however, though it 
little harmonises with the rest of the building, is a noble 
monument to the genius of Brunaleschi, and is said to 
have suggested to Michael Angelo his sublime conception 
of the cupola of St. Peter's at Rome. The campanile and 
baptistry are more worthy of notice than, perhaps, is the 
church itself. Of the former, Charles V. is reported to 
have said, u that the Florentines should shut up their 
campanile in a case, and only show it once a-year.” 
The gates of the baptistry are of solid bronze, most 
exquisitely wrought, and represent subjects from the Old 
Testament, and events in the life of St. John the 
Baptist: they are so elaborately executed, that Michael 
Angelo declared of them, that “ they were worthy to 
be the gates of Paradise,” an eulogium which scarcely 
seems exaggerated. The Church of the Santissima An- 
nunziata, besides glorying in the possession of a silver 
shrine, dedicated to the Virgin, boasts one or two 
works of Andrea Del Sarto, particularly a fresco-paint¬ 
ing of the “Holy Family” in its cloisters, which is best 
known as the “ Madonna del Sacco,” perhaps from the 
sack of corn on which Joseph is seated, but more 
popularly said to derive its name from having been 
painted by Andrea Del Sarto for the monks of the 
convent, in a time of scarcity, who remunerated the 
painter for his work by a sack of corn. San Lorenzo 
contains the gorgeous chapel, commenced by Lorenzo 
de Medici, and continued by his successors, as the 
receptacle of the ostentatious monuments of the princes 
of that family. If porphyry and lapiz lazuli could 
confer immortality, then would the fame of the princes 


FLORENCE. 


39 


of the house of Medici have been undying; but the 
eye turns away from the senseless glitter—the silver 
and the gold—to rest on the plain white stone, which 
genius here seems almost to make breathe and feel. 
It is the simple grandeur of Michael Angelo's four sta¬ 
tues of “ Day, and Night,” “ Evening, and Morning,” 
which are best remembered as an inducement to visit 
the gorgeous Chapel of Lorenzo. While speaking of 
Michael Angelo, I cannot refrain from alluding to an 
unfinished, or perhaps, I should rather say, just com¬ 
menced work of that great artist, in the corridor of 
the Belle Arti at Florence : it is the figure of a man, 
which seems, without metaphor, to struggle into life 
from the mass of rude work from which the chisel of 
the sculptor has to liberate it; and it requires but a 
trifling stretch of imagination to believe that the statue 
had always resided within the stone, and only required 
a few strokes of the hammer, to start out a perfectly 
formed human figure; the statue is most interesting, as 
proving, beyond a doubt , what has been often asserted, 
and as often contradicted, viz., that Michael Angelo 
worked without a model. The Church of St. Maria 
Novella is, externally, an unpleasing structure; nor can 
one well account for the admiration said to be ex¬ 
pressed of it by Michael Angelo, who, it is said, called 
it “ La Sposa ;” it may, perhaps, be like many of the 
sayings attributed to great men, and which, by 
dint of repetition, at length come to be believed. The 
old Florentine palaces are rqpre remarkable for their 
size and strength than for any great architectural 
beauty. The old Palazzo of the Medici, built by the 
merchant Cosimo, so justly styled “ Pater Patriae,” is 
one of the most interesting; it was the scene of the 
foul and treacherous murder of Alexander de Medici 






40 


FLORENCE. 


by his own relative, who, under pretence of aiding 
him in the prosecution of some low amour , inveigled 
him into his palace, and there basely assassinated him ; 
it is now called the Palazzo Riccardi, from the name 
of the family who last possessed it; but it has again 
passed into the hands of government, some of whose 
public offices are held on the ground-floor. It has for 
many years, also, been used for the sittings of the 
famous Academy della Crusca;—their device is quaint, 
and is worthy of being recorded. It is the instrument 
wffiich is used for separating the bran from the flour, 
the technical name of which I cannot now recall, and 
which is carried out in the minutest points, even 
to the backs of the chairs on which the professors sit. 

The Palazzo Strozzi, a correct and imposing specimen 
of Tuscan architecture, was erected in the beginning 
of the fifteenth century, by Pietro Strozzi, a wealthy 
citizen of Florence. The envy which his possessing so 
magnificent a residence excited in Luca Pitti, another 
wealthy Florentine merchant, induced him to boast 
that he would build himself a residence, on such a 
scale of magnificence, that the Palazzo Strozzi might be 
placed within the interior cor tile. The ostentatious 
Florentine commenced his palace, and it is curious, 
that the dimensions accord exactly with his boast; but 
his wealth being exhausted before the completion of his 
vast design, it was purchased by the Medici, and has 
continued since the residence of the sovereigns of 
Tuscany; it retains, however, the name of its first 
projector—a monument rather of his folly and egre¬ 
gious vanity, than of his wealth or greatness. 

This palace, as well as many others, has large and 
massive iron rings fixed on the exterior walls, whose 
use has furnished fertile subjects of conjecture. The 


FLORENCE. 


41 


most probable, however, is, that they were used for 
affixing the standards of the different companies of the 
city, when, in times of internal commotions, they were 
summoned round their patrons and leaders, either for 
foreign war or domestic protection ; for, in these stormy 
times, these armed retainers were as often opposed to 
an ambitious fellow-citizen as to an external enemy; 
indeed, the jealousies of opposing families were more 
disastrous to the liberties of republican Florence, than 
the invasions of foreign foes; and the factions of Guelph 
and Ghibeline, or, as they were more familiarly termed, 
Neri and Bianchi, effectually paved the way for the 
usurping sovereignty of the Medici, from which period 
the decay of Tuscany may be dated. The Palazzo 
Strozzi at present contains a respectable collection of 
pictures, and is said to be rich in the works, particu¬ 
larly, of Salvator Rosa. The private collections, how¬ 
ever, of Florence, will not bear comparison with those 
of Rome, or even with those of many cities of Italy 
of less size and importance. This is the less to be re¬ 
gretted, as the public galleries are so rich in treasures 
of art, and so liberally and gratuitously thrown open 
to the inspection of strangers. There are few things 
in Florence more agreeable and striking to the stranger 
than the profusion of beautiful flowers with which he 
is everywhere presented. Florence has lost her liberty, 
and bowed her beautiful neck to a foreign yoke—yet, 
nature is unchanged. The fruits and flowers of Florence 
were famous centuries ago (a lily gave rise to her name), 
and they are still unsurpassed in beauty and profusion. 
The seasons of the year would almost appear to make 
no difference—for of the flowers of “ Firenze la bella,” 
we can speak, from experience, that their beauty of 
colour, and fragrance of perfume, are as unvarying 





42 


FLORENCE. 

amidst December snows, as when fanned by the zephyrs 
of May; they seem, indeed, to spring from the earth 
spontaneously, and without culture ; and, like many of 
the gifts of nature which are dispensed with an un¬ 
sparing hand, I always felt they were not sufficiently 
appreciated. The modern Italians have an extreme 
prejudice against flowers, except as an appendage which 
fashion has rendered indispensable to the toilet; they 
are never permitted in the apartments, from an idea 
that the perfume is prejudicial to the health, and 
particularly affects (they think) the nervous system, 
and their place is but poorly supplied by those muslin 
and paper substitutes which issue from the manufactories. 

Apprehensive that circumstances may not admit of our 

spending another winter in Italy, H- has resolved 

on a hurried garcon trip to Rome, which he will 
himself describe, and so continue “Our Note-Book.” 




JOURNEY TO ROME. 


43 


CHAPTER VI. 


Journey from Florence to Rome by the Strada di Perugia—Vetturino Travelling— 
Description of the Road to the Tuscan Frontier-Lake of Thrasymene—Perugia— 
Pietro Perugino, and his School of Painting—Assisi—St. Francis and his Order— 
Foligno—Valley of Spoleto—The Clitumnus—Its celebrated Temple—Byron’s De¬ 
scription and unpoetical Realities—Spoleto—The Rocca—Papal Misgovernment— 
The Defiles of Monte Somma—Terni—The Caduta di Marmore—Cross the Tiber and 
enter Latium—Civita Castellana—Ruinous state of the Papal Towns—Desolation 
of the Campagna—Approach to Rome—First View of the “ Eternal City”— 
Imposing Entrance into Rome by the Porta del Popolo. 


To understand a country properly, one should make it 
a rule to become acquainted with the ordinary modes 
of travelling peculiar to it; the vetturino system, if 
not confined to Italy, is the most general and national 
way of travelling, and is, indeed, in some sort, in¬ 
dicative of the national character; it accords itself 
with their indolence and love of ease—it frees them 
from a world of petty anxiety, which would mar the 
dolce far niente , the supreme enjoyment of an Italian. 
Early rising is also congenial to the habits of the 
people of a southern climate; and nowhere, indeed, is 
the breezy call of “ incense-breathing morn” more 
delicious and inviting than in Italy. Refreshed by a 
cup of coffee, the traveller ensconces himself, at early 
dawn, in a corner of the quaint and cumbersome, but, 
withal, roomy and convenient vettura; and having pass¬ 
ed the Dogana, abandons himself to pleasant re¬ 
flections, whilst the refreshing breeze of the woody 


I 






44 


VETTURINO-TRAVELLING. 


Appenines invigorates his frame, too long confined to 
the narrow streets of an Italian city; onward jogs 
the antique vettura, drawn by its four Roman horses, 
sagacious, slow-paced, but durable animals, though 
not calculated, it may be, for the admiration of Tatter- 
sail's ; but the traveller, who has arrived at the end 
of a journey of, it may be, a fortnight's duration, at the 
day and hour appointed, will regard them, neverthe¬ 
less, with feelings of mingled admiration and gratitude. 
Merrily chimes the concert of their bells, while the 
vetturino himself holds with them friendly converse, 
or carols forth with rude, but often not unmusical voice, 
some sentimental cavatina, or merry strain from the 
latest opera-bufia; and thus progressing, the company 
reach their halt in the “ Mezzo Journo,” when ample 
time is given them, even for their accustomed siesta. 
The company and horses having enjoyed due repose 
and refreshment, the journey is again resumed till 
nightfall, when the vetturino draws up at the town 
and locanda appointed. 

Well disposed to enjoy this mode of travelling, I 
accepted the invitation of a family going to Rome, to 
accompany them, and, fortunately, obtained my place in 
the coupe; and, on a fine grey morning, passed through the 
Porta Santa Croce for Rome. What a train of associa¬ 
tions are connected with such a destination, even in 
minds the least classical! I was in a happy mood, and, 
indeed, our road would have charmed the eye of the most 
dull and phlegmatic. All was full of hopeful promise ; it 
was early in spring, but the season was more than usually 
genial, and the weather quite as warm as with us in May 
or June. The corn already waved high and green, the 
fruit-trees blossomed, and the festooned vines were shoot¬ 
ing forth their tender leaves ; the farm-houses, too, which 


THRASYMENE. 


45 


lined the road, were remarkably clean and comfortable. 
The contadini of this country have certainly an air and 
deportment which we meet with nowhere else. The 
poets delight to represent, in their pastorals, grace¬ 
ful shepherds and shepherdesses ; but we rarely meet 
with a truer living representation of such beings in the 
actual world, than what a melo-drama or a ballet affords 
us. Tuscany, and particularly the Val d’Arno, however, 
present to us something like what we are wont to picture 
to ourselves of Arcadia. Leaving the course of the Arno, 
two hours from Florence, the scenery becomes more wild 
as we ascend, till, having arrived at the top of the steep 
hill of Strughi, the mountains about Valambrosa and 
Lavernia stretch away to the left, while before us lies a 
wide plain, broken by sudden hills and castellated mounts. 
The villages and towns to Arezzo, inclusive, all wear 
the same air of Tuscan comfort and prosperity. From 
Arezzo to Camuscia, the road lies through the extended 
plain of Chianti, bounded by lofty mountains in the 
distance, among which Radicofani arrests the eye of the 
traveller. Camuscia is close to Cortona, which is finely 
placed on the summit of a lofty hill : it was one of the 
twelve ancient Tuscan cities. Before reaching Ossaja, 
where the Tuscan dominions terminate, a turn of the 
winding road brings us in full view of the beautiful and 
memorable lake of Thrasymene—its clear and tranquil 
waters reflecting the shadows of two wooded islands, and 
the gleam of the white cities on its pellucid waters, lay 
before us in all the beauty of an Italian evening ; while on 
our left were the steep heights, the commanding position of 
the Carthagenian general ; to the right, the swampy plain 
into which he hemmed the Roman army. While we were 
detained by the examination of our luggage, we heard, in 
the w r oody glens, the shepherd’s reedy pipe, to which 





4C> 


PERUGIA. 


Byron so beautifully alludes ; but I suspect the neigh¬ 
bourhood of Thrasymene is rather the haunt of a more 
lawless race ; the people all along its shores struck us as 
having a most bandit-looking appearance. 

Passignano, which looks so beautiful, gleaming across 
the lake—on entering we found a most miserable 
place, so we went on about five miles further, to the 
wretched village, and as wretched locanda of Mujiano, 
situated on an eminence at a short distance from the 
lake. Here we put up for the night, and next day 
four hours’ creeping along brought us to Perugia, im¬ 
posingly situated on a lofty hill, that commands a wide 
tract of rich country. The fortifications of Perugia 
must at one time have been of great strength, and they 
still have an imposing aspect. It is, for a papal town, 
a clean and cheerful-looking place, and has much to 
interest the traveller, and the lover of the arts. Here 
lived and flourished Pietro Perugino, who deserves so 
much from posterity and his country, as the affectionate 
master of the divine Raphael. Many of the buildings 
of Perugia will also attract the traveller’s attention. I 
was struck, even externally, with the old Palazzo del 
Governo, which forms one side of the principal piazza 
of the town. In a singular little building, called the 
Exchange (Collegio del Cambio), in the principal street, 
are the most celebrated frescoes of Pietro, representing, 
in compartments, subjects taken from sacred and profane 
history; and in the adjoining little chapel of St. John 
are frescoes by the different pupils of Pietro. In Perugia, 
which is the principal town of the ancient province of 
IJrbino, was formed that distinguished school of painting, 
known as the Umbrian school, from which emanated 
so many great painters, at the head of whom stands 
the divine Raphael. In this retired valley of the Upper 


ASSISI AND ST. FRANCIS. 


47 


Tiber, amid scenes so favourable to devout meditation, 
its people were remarkable, from the earliest times, for 
their religious enthusiasm; and “art,” as a distinguished 
writer upon it observes, “followed here the current of 
life, as in the commercial cities of Florence and Venice.” 
Pietro Perugino, Francia, and Raphael himself, parti¬ 
cularly in his earlier works, afford the strongest indication 
of this spiritual tendency which characterises the Umbrian 
school. We visited Assisi, remarkable as the birth¬ 
place of St. Francis, the founder of the powerful 
and numerous order of the Franciscans. Perhaps no 
body of men ever exercised so powerful and long-con¬ 
tinued an influence over the minds of men in different 
ages, as the self-denying community founded by this 
rigid enthusiast, making poverty, charity, and obedience, 
the three great rules of his order. By his impassioned 
preaching and untiring zeal, he effected a revolution in 
the ecclesiastical discipline of the Roman Church. How¬ 
ever misdirected we may consider such zeal, yet it is 
difficult to believe that it was not actuated by the sincerest 
faith. His example of denial and mortification was 
imitated immediately by his followers, who rapidly in¬ 
creased; and it is only just to admit, that this example 
exercised a salutary influence, and corrected much, at 
least, of the open profligacy which so generally disgraced 
the Romish clergy of these barbarous times. Indeed, 
the character of St. Francis has been considered as worthy 
of the highest honors by the greatest of Italian poets, 
who celebrates him in the highest terms, in the “ Divina 
Commedia” (Purgatoria xi. 94) ; and, considering the 
wonderful influence that he exercised, not only upon 
his own times, but through his followers, for so many 
centuries, we must regard him as one of the most ex¬ 
traordinary men that ever have appeared. I purchased 





48 


ST. FRANCIS. 


at Assisi, from one of the friars, liis life, written, I believe, 
at the convent. It gave a very full and particular account 
of the life and conduct of the saint, and particularly 
of his first appearance at Rome. He was first induced 
to abandon the world from an extraordinary vision which 
appeared to him one evening, when, after hearing the 
“ Ave Maria 5 ’ chanted, the good saint had fallen asleep. 
Suddenly the whole church appeared to him as if falling 
to pieces, while a vision of angels and a voice was heard, 
saying, “ Arise, Francis, and rebuild my church.” Con¬ 
ceiving that this was a divine commission, with enthu¬ 
siastic ardour he delayed not to devote himself to the 
cause of reformation ; and, beginning with himself, he 
adopted a life of undeviating patience and denial, and 
unceasingly exercised himself in persuading others to 
follow his example. The sepulchral church of St. Francis 
is in Assisi, and has ever been held in the greatest vene¬ 
ration. The church is adorned with some of the most 
remarkable works of Cimabue and Giotto, two of the 
earliest Florentine painters. It is a very singular Gothic 
edifice, at the foot of a hill, on the’ side of which 
the town is built; and near the road stands the splendid 
Franciscan church, Della Madonna Degli Angelli. It 
encloses the rustic chapel where the saint was accus¬ 
tomed to pray at vespers, and where, it is said, appeared 
to him the vision of angels, to which I have already 
alluded. This oratory is placed immediately under the 
lofty dome which crowns this noble edifice, which may 
be considered, both from its style and extent, as one of 
the finest even in Italy. It is also the more remarkable, 
from standing alone in the midst of a beautiful country, 
separated from towns and cities. Innumerable are the 
indulgences and blessings promised to the faithful wor¬ 
shipper at this oratory, which has now, however, quite 


FOLIGNO. 


49 


lost its rustic character, if it ever had any, and is richly 
inlaid with precious stones. The good father who showed 
us over the church and the adjacent convent, duly called 
our attention to the favourable opportunity now presented 
to us of compounding .for our sins—light, too, was the 
task, easy the penance ; but I grieve to say, none of our 
party showed any disposition to avail ourselves of the 
proffered aid of St. Francis, although there were among 
us, and those the most jocose on the subject, some devout 
believers from the Emerald Isle. 

Foligno is a very agreeably-situated town; the streets 
are wide and handsome, and the country about it ex¬ 
tremely beautiful. When we arrived, it was brilliantly 
illuminated. A cardinal legate, on his way to Bologna, 
who had been formerly bishop of Foligno, had arrived 
in the town, and the inhabitants were honouring him in 
this way. It was a beautiful night, as warm as with us 
in June, and the moon shone bright and clear in 
the azure vault of an Italian sky; the streets were 
thronged with happy crowds enjoying themselves, while 
the excellent band of the commune (and I have rarely 
heard a finer) played, through the town, favourite airs 
from the most admired operas, till a late hour of the night. 
Fireworks closed this gala night in Foligno. 

I think the inhabitants of the Papal States have a 
more marked and Italian character than those of Tus¬ 
cany—at least than the people of the Val d’Arno. The 
costume of the women, in particular the worked fazzo- 
lette and their mode of head-tire generally, had, to my 
mind, a more distinctively Italian look, as well as the 
physiognomy of the people. 

There is no more beautiful or interesting scenery, even 
in Italy, than that which lies between Foligno and Spo- 
leto, with the clear waters of the beautiful Clitumnus 

JD 



50 


VALLEY OF SPOLETO. 


winding along close by the road. What a train of clas¬ 
sical associations does the name recall!— 

“ Hinc albi Gitumni, greges et maxima taurus, 

Victima saspe tuo perfusi flumina sacro.” 

Here, on its grassy banks, still grazes the milk-white 
steer; and, although the Roman triumphs for which 
they were destined have long passed away, never to return, 
still— 


“ Hie ver assiduum atque alienis mensibus restas, 

Bis gravide pecudes bis pomis utilis arbos.” 

The valley of Spoleto, and such a season as we expe¬ 
rienced in passing through it, early in March, justify, 
indeed, the glowing eulogium of the great Roman poet, 
and show us how nature here, as everywhere, remains 
the same, amidst all the vicissitudes of fallen empires and 
human greatness :— 

“ Beautiful as at first ascends the star 
From odoriferous Ind, whose office is 
To gather home betimes the ethereal flock, 

And pour them o’er the skies again at eve.” 

Near the river, and close by the high road, stands the 
little temple of Clitumnus, said to be the ancient temple 
so celebrated by the Roman poets. Its front, which over¬ 
looks the river, is ornamented with four beautiful columns 
of the Corinthian order ; and, altogether, this little build¬ 
ing, so interesting from its situation, so chaste and clas¬ 
sical in its design, fully justifies all that has been said 
and sung of it; but it is a part, and no mean one, of the 
poet’s art, to leave unnoticed meaner things, and, seizing 
upon the general aspect of the scene, to expatiate only 
on the beautiful and poetical; but, as we are writing 


THE CLITUMNUS. 


51 


prose, we may be permitted to say, that the Clitumnus is 
here by no means so beautiful as the author of “ Childe 
Harold” would have us believe ; and as, indeed, it is, lower 
down, towards Foligno: never of any considerable breadth, 
the river near the temple is so narrow, as to have only the 
appearance of a mill-race, to which purpose, indeed, it here 
answers, and the stream itself— 

“ The most serene of aspect, and most clear, 

A mirror and a bath for beauty’s youngest daughters.” 

Alas! for poetry and poetical guides, in place of nymphs 
like these, I found a company of noisy country wenches, 
beetling clothes in the sacred stream! Don Quixote 
was not more mortified when his faithful squire related 
to him the occupation in which he found the lady of 
his love. Spoleto is romantically situated on the side 
of a mountain, crowned by a strong fortress, called the 
Rocca, now used as a prison, one of the most necessary 
and important public buildings in every papal town. 
That of Spoleto, though of great extent, we were told 
was crammed at this time with crowds of unhappy 
wretches, whom poverty and bad government had driven 
to desperation. It does not need that we should examine 
closely into the nature of the papal government, to decide 
whether popes and cardinal legates are the best adminis¬ 
trators of temporal government. The universal wretched¬ 
ness, the moral and physical debasement of the miserable 
people who have been cursed with such a system, speak 
trumpet-tongued in its condemnation. 

Spoleto, from its situation, has always been a place 
of great importance and strength; and its citizens are 
said to have repulsed Hannibal after the disastrous 
battle of Thrasymene; and one of its gates is called 


52 


SPOLETO. 


the Porta Fuga, in allusion to the circumstance. The 
cathedral is not particularly deserving of attention; 
but the celebrated aqueduct, thrown, three hundred 
feet high, over the deep chasm which separates the 
Rocca from the opposite mountain, is, indeed, a won¬ 
derful structure and example of human labour and 
art. It is five hundred Roman hands in height, and is 
formed of brick, supported on arches of stone, and the 
central part is a double arcade, designed, perhaps, to admit 
the violent gusts of wind which rush through the ravine 
from the mountains. The head absolutely reels and turns 
dizzy in surveying, from the bridge, the depth below; and 
when we contemplate the apparent lightness of the work, 
we experience a momentary sensation of fear ; yet it has 
for centuries resisted the tempest and the flood, and 
will, perhaps, as long continue to do so. This great 
work is generally attributed to the Goths. 

Leaving Spoleto, the Roman mol di jwstci passed us, 
strongly guarded by papal carabineers, though only three 
o’clock in the day; indeed, we had frequent indications 
of the lawless and brigand habits of the people. Our 
vetturino whipped on his horses, gladly availing himself 
of this fortunate escort; and as we wound through the 
perilous defiles of Monte Somma, here the highest part 
of the Apennines, he favoured us with many lugubrious 
anecdotes of the brigands of this wild part of the country. 
Certainly the surrounding scenery was most favourable 
to their exploits : lofty mountains, densely clothed with 
stunted oak-trees, offered them impenetrable security and 
concealment, while the road winds so steep and suddenly, 
as to oblige the horses of unhappy travellers to adopt 
the slowest and most cautious pace. No human habita¬ 
tion is here, except the guard-houses of the papal soldiers^ 
placed here and there to suppress, or rather restrain the 


FALLS OF TERNI. 


53 


banditti; but their success has ever been only temporary. 
From time to time some fearful deed of violence is 
committed, which still tells too terribly that the brigand 
spirit of Italy is not yet suppressed. The large bands 
that formerly possessed these woods, may, indeed, no 
longer exist; but the system, though broken, is only more 
dangerous, as it has converted every bandit into a ladro 
on his own account, ready to pounce on the unwary 
traveller, whenever he has an opportunity. 

We were rejoiced to gain, before the evening had set 
in, the open country; and before sunset we entered the 
pleasant-looking little town of Terni, the ancient Inter- 
amnum, so called from the two arms of the Nar and Tiber, 
between which it is situated. Terni, though anciently a 
place of importance, now derives its greatest interest from 
its proximity to the celebrated cascade, the Caduta di 
Marmore, a few miles distant. To attempt to describe 
the magnificent scene which this (the greatest, perhaps, 
of European waterfalls) presented, would be presumption. 
To describe such a scene required the genius of Byron: 

“ The roar of waters ! from the headlong height 
Velino cleaves the wave-worn precipice. 

The fall of waters! rapid as the light, 

The flashing mass foams, shaking the abyss. 

Horribly beautiful! but on the verge, 

From side to side, beneath the glittering mom, 

An Iris sits amidst the infernal singe, 

Like hope upon a death-bed, and unworn 
Its steady dyes, while all around is torn 
By the distracted waters, bears serene 
Its brilliant hues, with all their beams unshorn, 

Resembling, ’mid the torture of the scene, 

Love watching madness with unutterable mien.” 

Here there is no disappointment: the description of the 







54 


PONTIFICAL GOVERNMENT. 


poet, magnificent as it is, falls far below the grand 
and sublime reality of the scene. Addison, after view¬ 
ing it, entertained no doubt that this was the awful 
gulf, the “ specus horrendum,” down which the baleful 
fury Alecto plunged to the infernal regions, after 
exciting the war against AEneas. The road from Terni 
to Civita Castellana lies through a rich and beautiful, 
valley. Near to Otricoli we crossed the Tiber by a 
fine bridge, said to have been first erected by Augustus, 
but repaired by pope Sixtus V., which is recorded 
by his pontifical arms and inscription. This Pontiff, 
viewed as a temporal sovereign, was, perhaps, one of 
the best and most useful of the popes; he did not 
merely content himself with conferring annual bene¬ 
dictions and spiritual indulgences, but sought to confer 
on his subjects practical benefits and good government; 
but the vices of such a government were too inherent. 
Monopoly and peculation soon seized again upon the 
revenues of the state ; and priestcraft and hypocrisy 
continued their uniform course, debasing, still further, 
the minds and characters of the people. Our vetturino 
pointed proudly to the river, as we rolled over the 
bridge, as if with a consciousness of the great and 
undying assocations connected with it—“ Ecco il Tevere!” 
We were now in the most classical regions of Hes¬ 
perian Latium—in the country of those warlike tribes, 
whose conquest occupied the first efforts of the rising 
republic, and in which were displayed, on both sides, 
such memorable examples of valour and patriotism. 
Civita Castellana is very generally thought to occupy 
the site of ancient Vei ; its strong, natural position 
would almost justify the opinion ; looking at its com¬ 
manding citadel, and the massive remains of ancient 
walls, we can easily imagine that such a place, de- 


CAMPAGNA OF ROME. 


fended by the warlike Veientines, might, like another 
Troy, have, indeed, required a ten years’ siege; at 
the same time, it is more in accordance with authority, 
and indeed, the usual policy of the Romans towards 
their conquered rivals, to suppose that Camillus ut¬ 
terly destroyed and razed the foundations of this great 
city; for it is never even mentioned afterwards in 
Roman history, and its situation became a subject of 
conjecture, even to the Romans themselves. Civita 
Castellana is now a most ruinous place; indeed, nothing 
can be more miserable than the wretched towns and 
villages in the neighbourhood of that most desolate 
scene on earth—the Campagna of Rome; even the 
Sabine hills seen in the distance, and all the glo¬ 
rious memories associated with their name, and 
old Soracte’s sacred height, fail to lift the mind from 
the settled melancholy which the loneliness and uniform 
desolation of the scene suggests: we can hardly 
believe ourselves in Italy, or approaching a great town, 
much less “ the Eternal City,” the once proud mistress 
of the world. We look for the people—for the flour¬ 
ishing towns teeming with population, which once 
connected this now, almost, howling wilderness with 
mighty Rome, and only see here and there a few 
savage-looking men, tending their scattered herds, or 
the wretches mending the highways, pallid and ghastly 
with the ravages of the pestilential malaria. We 
rested for a couple of hours at mid-day, at the mis¬ 
erable post-house, about fifteen miles from Rome; 
never did two hours appear so tedious to impatient 
mortals as those two hours were. The vetturino, 
who providently brings his own corn, was enabled to 
feed his horses, but there w r as little to be had here for 
us : we envied tw r o Italian travellers, who, with a huge 



56 


CAMPAGNA OF ROME. 


bowl of maccaroni, well saturated in rancid oil, before 
them, seemed to be enjoying their repast amazingly. 
I, fortunately, was not hungry, and yet, felt it morti¬ 
fying to be detained on our journey for the avowed 
purpose of eating, only to find that there was nothing 
to eat; they gave us, however, something in the way 
of food at last, I believe, but it did not detain us 
long, so 1 turned in desperation to the window of 
the wretched hostelry, and busied myself in minutely 
noting every feature of the dismal prospect; one im¬ 
mense building, stored with hay, fronted the locanda , 
and these two formed the hamlet of the Campagna, 
the only places of human habitation that appeared for 
miles around. While I was conjecturing how even the 
scanty population of this desert could support them¬ 
selves, a wretched countryman approached the same 
stagnant tank near the locanda , where our vetturino 
had just watered his horses, and taking from a large 
bag he carried, a large piece of coarse black bread, 
he floated it on the water for a few minutes, and then 
ate it with much apparent contentment; my conjec¬ 
tures were satisfied. 

“ Allow not nature more than nature needs; 

And man’s life is cheap as beast’s.” 

And yet there was a deep moral lesson conveyed in this 
meal of the poor peasant, which, I trust, was not wholly 
lost upon me. What a train of artificial wants does our 
boasted civilization impose upon us, and how vainly do we 
dilate on the independence of wealth, when one of its 
first effects is to make us the slaves of our desires. Just 
at this moment, two mounted gend'armes rode by 
towards Rome, guarding between them a poor wretch 


57 


APPROACH TO ROME. 

heavily ironed, and mounted on a mule ; it appeared that 
he was a robber who had taken refuge in the wilds of 
Campagna, and whom they had just succeeded in arrest¬ 
ing. How wretched, how pressed and harassed by 
his pursuers must he have been, to seek for shelter in 
such a desert as this ! They said he was a very 
desperate villain, but I thought (without sufficient¬ 
ly regarding the safety of the travellers on the Via 
Flaminia) that they might as well have left him alone to 
roam at large, or starve in the Campagna. The same 
unvarying scene of sterility and desolation presented 
itself to our view as we resumed our journey and ap¬ 
proached Rome, and my impatience to catch the first view 
of the “ Eternal City,” aggravated by the uninteresting na¬ 
ture of our road, now made my inquiries of the vetturino 
frequent and querulous. But in vain I urged him to 
push forward his great black horses ; he and they only 
the more doggedly preserved the same equable pace ; 
however, in ascending a long, wearisome hill, he seemed 
to have caught some of my spirit of impatience, and 
urged his horses, in a very unusual manner, up its sum¬ 
mit, where he staid them for a few minutes : and then, 
Rome, imperial Rome—for still she looks imperial!— 
the dome of St. Peter’s, the mole of Adrian, and the 
yellow Tiber, burst upon our view, reflecting, with their 
own, the glory of an Italian sunset. What a tide of 
reflections occupy the mind—what emotions stir the heart, 
on first beholding Rome. There is not only grandeur in 
the sight , but in the thought that we behold her ; we feel 
as if ennobled by the destiny which has brought us hither 
to ponder amidst scenes so renowned and sacred. Rome, 
still seated on her seven hills, stretched away before us ; 
the city—the vicissitudes cf whose fortunes involve the 
history cf our race ; the fruitful mother of heroes ; the 

d 2 




58 


APPROACH TO ROME. 


imperial mistress of the world; exalted by the loftiest 
achievements of valour and patriotism ; and adorned by 
the most varied and consummate genius; till, degenerate 
and self-enthralled, she became the victim of the san¬ 
guinary crimes and lust of power which she herself had 
engendered. No other city on earth has been the theatre 
of such events, or suggests the same associations. Who 
can behold it for the first time unmoved ? The statesman 
—the philosopher and man of letters—the disciple of 
Luther or Calvin—all alike regard it with the deepest 
interest, although with the feelings which belong to their 
different characters; but it is the devout and believing 
in infallible Rome who behold her with one common 
feeling of enthusiastic veneration, and enter her gates 
with exultation as the “ Holy City,” hallowed by the 
blood of martyrs, and the residence of the fisherman 
and his successors. Influenced by such feelings, I sup¬ 
pose (while my mind was occupying itself about ancient 
Rome), our vetturino crossed himself devoutly, and, 
having muttered a prayer, probably an “ ora pro nobis,” 
to St. Peter, joyfully descended the hill with a rapidity 
that surprised, while it alarmed us. At the foot of the 
hill we again crossed the Tiber by a magnificent bridge, 
a viaduct worthy of being the approach to Rome. I 
could almost have fancied myself entering the imperial 
metropolis, and not the fallen city devoted to priests 
and priestcraft; when we encountered that most ex¬ 
traordinary and old-fashioned of equipages, a cardinal’s 
coach, my delusions were quickly dispelled, and my 
reflections recalled from the glorious past to the melan¬ 
choly present. There walked his Eminence, come out 
from the city to enjoy a walk in the cool of the evening 
—a feeble old man, conspicuous by his bright red stock¬ 
ings, which contrasted oddly with his suit of quiet 


ROME. 


59 


black; but this contrast was carried out even in the 
equipage itself, for the carriage was painted of a flaming 
red, while the horses, with long flowing manes and tails, 
were as black and solemn as if chosen from the stud of 
an undertaker. A little behind his Eminence, with atten¬ 
tive look and cat-like pace, walked a sharp-visaged eccle¬ 
siastic, and two servants in gaudy, though shabby liveries. 
There, thought I, is one of the “ conscript fathers’’ of 
modern Rome, who now give a lord to the seven-hilled 
city. Entering the Porta del Popolo, always, as now, 
the principal entrance into Rome, I was agreeably sur¬ 
prised by the first view which the Piazza presented. 
The dreary waste of the Campagna, and the train of 
my reflections, had prepared me for decay and gloom, 
and I was surprised to find myself suddenly in the 
midst of one of the finest squares in Europe, and sur¬ 
rounded by all the life and bustle of a great city. It 
was a festa , and the magnificent Corso (one of those 
three great streets which diverge from the Piazza) was 
lined with carriages, filled with all the wealth and beauty 
of Rome, driving in procession round the fine Egyptian 
obelisk and fountain which adorn its centre. I secured 
accommodation (as did the rest of our party) in an hotel 
situated in this pleasant quarter; and having done ample 
justice to the distinguished merits of the Roman cuisine 
(which I may, in passing, observe, is the best in Italy), 
and taken “ mine ease in mine inn,” I sauntered out 
again, beneath the light of the moon, into the Piazza 
del Popolo. It recalls the Place de la Concord at Paris; 
but the beautiful Pincian hill, with its fine gardens, give 
the Piazza, in my opinion, much the advantage. Having 
enjoyed an hour or two of a Roman night on the Pincian 
hill, invited to rest by the ceaseless fall of waters from 
the neighbouring fountains, I returned to my hotel. 






fiO 


ROME. 


CHAPTER VII. 


Rome and its Antiquities—“ A Bird’s-eye View”—The Museum of the Conservatorio 
and Campidoglia—St. Peter’s—The Reformation—Churches of Rome—Their ex¬ 
cessive number—Vespers in St. Peter’s—rGregory the XVI.—The Vatican—The 
Walk from the Vatican along the Tiber—The Mole of Adrian—Monte Mario— 
Sunset from the Pincian—Opera in Rome, and Roman Manners. 


Resolved to lose no time in setting determinedly about 
the business of seeing Rome, I directed myself to a 
friend who had been some time there, and begged him 
to furnish me 'with a plan of operations. “’Where,” 
asked I, “ is the Capitol—the Forum—the Colosseum ?” 
“ Why, as to these celebrated localities,” he replied, 
“ you will have no difficulty in making them out, though 
there is nothing so contradictory or disputed as Roman 
topography; but you must fall in with the usage, and, 
following the good old maxim, ‘ in Rome do as the Ro¬ 
mans do,’ where every one is an antiquary, or affects to 
be one ; so let us begin regularly.” We then spread 
the map before us, and began to trace the gradual de¬ 
velopment of Rome, from its first foundation, at the foot 
of the Palatine hill, by Romulus, when a circuit of less 
than a mile enclosed its walls, till, in successive augmen¬ 
tations, the city embraced the seven hills, and a space, 
according to Pliny, of tw r enty miles in circumference, 
besides the extensive suburbs which on every side sur¬ 
rounded it. Having thus acquired some general idea of 
the relative positions of the points of greatest interest, 


ROME. 


01 

I determined to avoid all the learned controversies to 
which my friend called my attention, and set out on my 
peregrinations from this quarter of Rome, which may, 
indeed, be called the English quarter, or “ Borgo 
Forestieri,” and which conveys, as I soon found out, 
a very erroneous impression of the “Eternal City.” 
I had not gone far, when the too-evident indica¬ 
tions of decay and wretchedness, but above all, of 
filth, in the people themselves, as well as in their 
dwellings, told me that I was, indeed, in the capital 
of papal Italy; even the Corso itself, magnificent as 
it is, by its extent, and the number of noble palaces 
which line it, is hardly an exception to this descrip¬ 
tion, while the startling contrast between grandeur 
and meanness, external magnificence and internal po¬ 
verty, is everywhere painfully apparent. Yet, where 
shall we find another street in Europe to equal it ? 
I paused in the Piazza di Colonna Antonina to gaze 

with wonder and delight on the grand historic column, 

erected by the Roman senate, to the best of their 
emperors, the philosophic and virtuous Marcus Aurelius 
Antoninus; it displays, in a series of bassi relievi , 
winding within spiral lines round the column, the 
various achievements of his reign. On the top of 
this column, Sixtus V., who seems to have imbibed 
all the passion for Christian adaptation, I have else¬ 
where spoken of, has placed the statue of St. Paul 
in place of the Roman emperor. The noble palace 

of the Colonna family, and the post-office (a very 

handsome modern edifice), which, severally, form sides 
of this Piazza, contribute to render it the most im¬ 
posing in Rome. Traversing the extremity of the 
Corso, after treading my way through many narrow 
and filthy streets, I entered the Forum of Trajan, 



(52 


ROME. 


the most extensive and magnificent of imperial Rome. 
The splendid column of the Emperor, adorned, like 
that of Antoninus, with bassi rdievi , beautifully sculp¬ 
tured, and a few broken columns of gray granite, are all 
that now remain of the porticoes, temples, and triumphal 
arches, which adorned this part of Rome. The bassi 
relievi on the column, which represents the Dacian wars, 
are very superior to those on the column of Antoninus, 
and are said to be the work of the Athenian Apollo- 
dorus, and furnish us, perhaps, with the truest represen¬ 
tations of Roman costume that we possess. The eagles 
and other trophies of war (shields, standards, &c.), which 
adorn the pedestal, are very beautifully sculptured, and 
full of spirit. Sixtus V. has also surmounted the 
Column of Trajan with a saint—even with the fisherman 
himself. What a moral lesson is conveyed in this 
anomalous transition. How it mocks the vain attempts 
of greatness and ambition to perpetuate their existence, 
and anticipate futurity. A Christian pontiff the sovereign 
lord of Rome! The imperial statue removed, and replaced 
by the figure of a fisherman—a Jew—and the Apostle of 
the Jews; thus avenging the terrible persecution of the 
Christians and Jews—the only sanguinary exception to 
the clemency which distinguished the virtuous and glo¬ 
rious reign of Trajan. 

I at length reached the Forum Romanum itself—what 
grandeur! and yet what ruin! I cared not to distinguish 
to what temples each group of those majestic columns 
belonged ; whether to the temples of Jupiter or Janus, 
of Fortune or Concord, or whether yonder churches 
enclosed the temples of Romulus and Vesta—enough 
remained—enough of certainty—this, indeed, was the 
Forum Romanum. Here was the temple of Concord—here 
Tully harangued against Catiline—and yonder Caesar bled. 


ROME. 


03 


Who can mistake the Capitol?—that steep, square- 
crowned mount, which still seems to be the citadel of 
empire—the stronghold of freedom. Let us pursue our 
walk along the “ sacred way” and pass under, in succes¬ 
sion, the triumphal arches of Severus, Titus, and of Con¬ 
stantine : the imperial edicts and the decrees of the senate 
for their erection, are engraven at length ; the imperial 
effigies still surmount the trophied pediments; and under 
the Arch of Titus, “ the delight of mankind,” we recog¬ 
nise, in full relief, the sacred candlesticks and tables of the 
law, borne along in triumph. 

But let us turn and behold the Colosseum—the enor¬ 
mous building erected by Vespasian to commemorate the 
destruction of Jerusalem, and to gratify the pride and 
cruelty of the Roman people. What vastness, what mas¬ 
sive strength, that has successfully resisted the waste of 
time, and the fury of war and spoliation, for seventeen 
hundred years ! The mind loses itself in contemplating 
its arena; and yet, order and design are visible in all its 
parts. How admirably adapted for the purposes of a 
theatre! What minute attention to the ranks and con¬ 
venience of the spectators !—the very galleries and ap¬ 
proaches numbered so, that every Roman citizen could at 
once find his appropriate seat. But what were the enter¬ 
tainments for which this vast amphitheatre was destined ? 
The heart shudders at the recollection, and the Christian 
derives another awful confirmation of the desperate wick¬ 
edness and depravity of unconverted man. The bloody 
taste for gladiatorial shows was, however, peculiar to the 
Romans; and while the imaginative Greeks as freely 
abandoned themselves, in all their notions of religion, to 
the fables of their poets—“ the doctors of their religion,” 
as Bacon calls them—yet their public amusements were 
never of a brutal or sanguinary character. But the ex- 






64 


ROME. 


hibition of gladiators was the favourite amusement of all 
classes of the Roman people ; nor could the vast theatre 
erected by Pompey the Great in the Circus Maximus, 
which alone was capable of accommodating eighty-seven 
thousand persons, satisfy their atrocious passion for blood. 
The Colosseum was therefore erected, and Christian per¬ 
secution and constancy soon furnished them with abun¬ 
dant victims to glut their ferocity. Here came, twice a- 
day, we are told, the most distinguished, not only of the 
men, but of the matrons and daughters of Rome ; and so 
terrible was the butchery on some of the great Roman 
holidays, that it required aqueducts to supply the water 
necessary to cleanse the arenas after these bloody exhibi¬ 
tions. When wearied with the mortal strife between man 
and man, the ruler of these terrific shows gave the signal, 
and man w r as seen contending with the wild beasts of the 
forest—“tigris et aspera Gmtulusque leo.” We would 
fain turn away incredulously from such recitals ; but the 
testimony of the Roman historians, and the very ruins 
themselves, leave us no room to doubt of these bloody 
scenes. Never was the faith and constancy of the first 
Christian martyrs displayed and tried in an ordeal so 
terrific. Their inhuman persecutors, amazed by a forti¬ 
tude which they could not appreciate, attributed their 
devotion to madness ; for they could not understand why 
men should prefer death to a denial of the truth, when, 
like Pontius Pilate, they were themselves ignorant even 
of what it was. 

It was nearly dark before I retraced my steps through 
the Via Sacra, and ascended the steps of the Capitol. It 
was near the venti quatro , or Ave Maria—the canonical 
close of the Roman day—and the church and convent- 
bells were busily pealing forth, while monks and friars 
of every order and hue—white, black, and grey—were 


HOME. 


65 


hurrying to their houses, laden with the rewards of divi¬ 
nation, or mendicity. What mutations of destiny !—what 
an avenger is Time ! Rome, imperial Rome, in ruins; her 
people the passive slaves of superstition and imposture; 
while the greasy Franciscan, or still more filthy Capuchin, 
are the most frequent representative of the Gens togata. 
I repeated, for successive days, my visits to the Foro Ro¬ 
mano, for there I find enough of classic ground undis¬ 
turbed ; hut to body forth the reflections which such 
scenes suggest, demanded the genius of Byron—a genius 
which was indeed kindred to the ruins themselves. Per¬ 
haps the best view of Rome is that from the tower of the 
Campidoglio. On one side we behold what may be called 
the modern city, marked by the windings of the Tiber, 
the Vatican mount, and the towering dome of St. Peter's ; 
while to the right, stretches away Soracte and the Sabine 
hills. From the other side of the tower, we look down on 
all the principal monuments of ancient Rome : the temple 
of Concord and of Jupiter Tonans are at our feet, with all 
that remains of the Forum Romanum; while the vast 
Colosseum, and the lonely tomb of Cecilia Metella, in the 
distance, terminate the glorious scene. Notwithstanding 
criticism, I admired the equestrian statue of Marcus Au¬ 
relius ; and in the nobility and horsemanship displayed in 
the figure of the imperial rider, forgot that the steed he 
bestrode might have shown, as we would say, a little 
more blood. The Greeks, certainly, surpassed the Ro¬ 
mans in their delineation of this noble animal. I believe 
it is agreed, that not only the two colossal figures them¬ 
selves of Castor and Pollux, on the Quirinal, but the fiery 
steeds they restrain, are the works of Greek artists—and 
they are the finest representation of the “ horse and his 
rider ” in the world ; and it is not therefore surprising, 
that the place itself is less known to the modern Romans 








H6 


ROME. 


as the Quirinal hill, than as the place Monte Cavallo. 
The buildings on the Capitol—the Senators’ House, the 
Conservatorio, and Museo—though the work of Michael 
Angelo, do not seem worthy of his genius or the place 
they occupy. One would here expect massiveness and 
strength—the grandeur possessed by so many of the 
palaces in his own native city, Florence—and not the 
pilastered edifices which he has erected here. But it 
matters not—it would be idle to strive to cheat the mind 
with the shadow of past dominion ; and it is enough that 
these buildings preserve for us so many of the most inter¬ 
esting relics of ancient Rome. Here, in the Conserva¬ 
torio, we behold the “ thunder-stricken nurse of Rome”— 
the bronze wolf—of Etruscan workmanship, and supposed 
to be the same with that mentioned by Cicero, and alluded 
to by Virgil, as forming the principal ornament of the 
shield presented to H3neas by his divine mother. Cer¬ 
tainly, the position of the wolf and the twin-brothers, 
agrees precisely with that description ; and altogether 
there is such a look of venerable antiquity about the relic, 
that we readily believe all that has been said or written 
about it. In the Museo, on the other side of the Piazza, 
is the figure of the “ Dying Gladiator,” the “ Fawn,” and 
other celebrated objects. I was particularly struck with 
the figure of an old Roman, near the door entering the 
upper rooms. I believe it was anonymous ; but there 
was a stern nobility, not only in the features, but carried 
out in the figure, nay, in the very set of his toga, and the 
hand which grasped it, that has impressed itself upon my 
memory. From these points of greatest interest in 
ancient Rome, I proceeded to the other extremity of the 
modern city, and visited St. Peter’s—that matchless tem¬ 
ple, to which “ Diana’s marvel was a cell.” Ancient 
Rome itself, in its proudest day, boasted of no fane like 


ROME. 


67 


this. How magnificent is the approach to it—that 
grandest of colonnades, the noble piazza, and its obe¬ 
lisk, and gushing fountains. The fagade of St. Peter's 
has been considered faulty, and, like that of St. John 
Lateran, it does not indicate the sacred character of 
the building, and, perhaps, would better suit as the 
front of an imperial palace ; yet, as a whole, it has the 
grandest effect, and raises the expectations of the spec¬ 
tator, if it does not quite correspond with, or prepare 
him for the uniformity of design which distinguishes 
the interior. There, a pervading and wonderful har¬ 
mony has combined the merit of attention to parti¬ 
culars, with the most vast and sublime conceptions 
that architect ever formed. Every effect produced 
accords with the aspiring design which called this 
grandest of all earthly temples into existence. The 
colossal genius of Michael Angelo towers exultingly to 
the skies in that majestic dome, which seems built for 
everlasting. There the spectator, whose mind has be¬ 
come expanded while pacing those glorious aisles, has no 
difficulty in at once comprehending that, in St. Peter's, 
the founders designed the metropolitan temple of the 
Christian world. This was the ambition which laid its 
foundation-stone, and which has actuated every suc¬ 
ceeding pontiff in completing or adorning it. It needs 
not those confession-boxes, to tell us that hither an 
aspiring priesthood would have drawn, not only all 
nations and languages, but the wealth of a prostrate 
world. It was a grand idea, and with what constancy 
and recklessness of means was it carried out for cen¬ 
turies ! But, is not the papal usurpation itself a sub¬ 
lime invention ? There is something of the old Roman 
mind in it; daring, boundless usurpation, to replace 
the temporal dominion of the world, which Rome had 








68 


ROME. 


lost, by a more secure and universal authority over the 
consciences and opinions of mankind. How successful 
was this design, the history of the past, and much of 
the present, attest. 

But in spite of popes and councils, anathemas and 
persecutions, man at length arose, and cast off his 
bondage, and vindicated the free spirit given him by 
his Creator. In vain Rome, ex cathedra , raised the 
cry of nolite exire —men turned away from her glit¬ 
tering shrines and pictured domes, to worship in the 
lone places of the desert, or the high mountain 
tops. Amidst such scenes (and not in the sumptuous 
pulpit of the cathedral), was the book of life laid 
open, and preached till the dark spell which had long 
bound the souls of men, was broken, and they arose 
to a knowledge of their Creator and themselves. No¬ 
where does the silent, but sure decay of popery 
appear more strongly than in Rome. In vain are the 
revenues of the papacy exhausted, to preserve from 
ruin, churches so vast and numerous. In vain does 
his holiness distribute to them a rich and various trea¬ 
sury of indulgences, to attract the faithful. They 
continue without congregations—the most solemn rites 
of the Romish church only celebrated by the priests 
and their acolytes—in truth, half-a-dozen of the prin¬ 
cipal churches would be more than sufficient to 
accommodate the Roman population in their religious 
services; and as to the strangers, except on some 
especial festa, they only pay them a hurried visit, 
to gratify curiosity, or a love of art; yet, it was 
as much for the strangers of Rome—a vast multitude 
which thronged the “Eternal City” at all seasons—that 
these magnificent edifices were erected—churches ri¬ 
valling the ancient temples of whose materials they 


ROME. 


G9 


are formed. But the world has changed—the spirit 
that led adoring multitudes in pilgrimage to them from 
the most distant parts of the world, has died away, 
and the very priests and monks themselves, who still 
linger about their deserted altars and neglected shrines, 
seem to treat them, now that they are no longer 
loaded with the rich offerings of the pious, with but 
little veneration. Whether the feelings of other times 
may again revive, is another, though a most solemn 
and momentous question. Opinions are contradictory; 
but it is evident that the priests themselves must 
calculate on their revival, or they would not continue 
to serve their altars under circumstances so discour¬ 
aging ; indeed, we can only satisfy the natural question, 
as to what purpose such a multitude of churches can 
possibly serve by such a presumption. So strongly, 
indeed, is this expectation entertained by the Roman 
priesthood, that it not only stimulates them in pre¬ 
serving the present, but in building additional churches. 
I found the work of rebuilding in full force in the 
church of St. Paul's, fuore le mura , a church only 
second in extent and magnificence to St. Peter’s. The 
greater part of this church was destroyed, some years 
ago, by fire, but promises now to rise from its ashes, 
in all its ancient magnificence. I do not mean to 
say that, as Catholics, we should not desire to see the 
church where St. Paul is generally supposed to have 
been buried, rebuilt. In all this there is much that 
is commendable, but it is melancholy to reflect, that 
where such enormous wealth and labour have been 
expended in raising vast and noble temples of reli¬ 
gion, there are not enough of worshippers to fill them, 
and that the gospel, the glad tidings of great joy, 
is not freely or faithfully published from their pulpits. 










70 


ROME. 


Here and there we see a Roman peasant, or a group of 
women kneeling before some favorite shrine, the pious de¬ 
votees generally appearing of the lowest orders, except in 
the church of St. John Lateran, where of an afternoon 
comes occasionally an Italian prince or noble of the old 
school, but, more frequently, my lord cardinal, his stately 
old carriage drawn up at a side door. His Eminence enters, 
accompanied by his chaplain and liveried attendants, and 
approaching the chapel of his favorite saint—perhaps, 
indeed, that of his ancestors—he kneels on the crimson 
cushion placed for him by his attendants, who having done 
so kneel behind him, while his Eminence draws from 
his ample pocket his diamond snuff-box, snuffs, blows his 
nose, spits, looks hard at the gorgeous shrine before him, 
mutters something, and departs with the same complacent 
dignity he entered. We found a gang of galley-slaves 
employed polishing the beautiful marble aisles of the 
church of St. Paul, a sight which, however painful, is not, 

I believe, uncommon, in churches under repair in Rome. 
After visiting the church of St. John Lateran, we looked 
into the neighbouring chapel of the Santa Scala, said to 
be the same by which our Saviour ascended to the 
Judgment Hall of Pilate. It is said that this sacred 
flight of stairs is shewn to the faithful elsewhere, but 
however that may be, we found here many poor devotees 
ascending and descending them on their knees—no doubt 
with the fullest conviction of their sacred authenticity. 
The churches of Rome are so numerous, and all 
so splendid, that it is as difficult as it would be 
useless to individualize them. St. Peter’s, St. John 
Lateran, and Santa Maria Maggiore cannot, indeed, 
be easily forgotten when visited. As for the rest, 
if we remember them, it is for something peculiar 
which they possess. We remember the Church of St. 


ROME. 


71 


Pietro, in Vinculis, for the genius of Michael Angelo, 
and his “ Moses the Church of St. Pietro, in Mintorio, 
for the convent near it, which encloses in its cloisters the 
place where tradition says St. Peter was crucified; and also 
for the magnificent view of Rome which that part of the 
city near the Fontana Paulina commands ; so that after 
the first few days from his arrival, the traveller confines 
himself to St. Peter’s. Here, indeed, he will never enter 
without finding something new to excite his admiration ; 
and the music and ever-changing ceremonies he will daily 
witness, if they do not edify, cannot at least fail to inter¬ 
est him. I heard the vespers—the least objectionable, to 
Protestants, of all the Roman Catholic services—one Sun¬ 
day afternoon, with much delight. The music was very 
fine ; the greater part of the lay auditory w r ere English or 
foreigners. A few days afterwards, I witnessed his holi¬ 
ness visit (according to custom in Lent) the altars in St. 
Peter’s. The Swiss Guard, in their antique and beautiful 
uniform, entered the cathedral some time before the pon¬ 
tiff, and ranged themselves in two lines near the entrance 
of the chapel where his holiness w^s to pray, and for 
which purpose a carpet and stool were placed. Various 
officers of the papal court followed, in handsome uniforms; 
and this being an occasion, I suppose, of presenting peti¬ 
tions to the Pope, a great number of letters were handed 
to the captain of the Swiss Guard, all by Roman women, 
relating, perhaps, to the approaching festival, in which 
his holiness was to endow fifty girls with marriage 
portions; after some time, his holiness returned, ac¬ 
companied by the members of his household, and a 
great number of cardinals. He wore episcopal robes, 
with a little red scull-cap ; his features are good, but 
their rubicund hue, and which particularly distinguishes 
the nasal organ of Gregory XVI., renders him far from 







72 


ROME. 


venerable, and gives rise, indeed, to many a joke, not only 
amongst the profane Protestants, but even amongst 
the faithful of Rome. He has, also, a shutfling, un¬ 
dignified pace, more characteristic of the Camaldo- 
lere monk than of the supreme Pontiff. x4fter pray¬ 
ing before the chapel a short time, he arose, and 
approaching the celebrated bronze statue of St. Peter, 
kissed it reverently, and remained for some time as 
if in silent prayer. To the mind of a Protestant, 
there is nothing more offensive in St. Peter's than 
the veneration which is paid to this statue, said to be 
an ancient one of Jupiter Capitolinus—the thunderbolts 
of the ruler of Olympus having been removed, to give 
place to the keys of St. Peter; and, certainly, the 
figure, antique and noble as it is, has just the aspect 
and posture which the Greeks and Romans delighted 
to give to “ Jove supreme.” 

I followed his holiness from St. Peter's into the Vatican. 
Are we surprised at the vaunting ambition “ which o'er- 
leapt itself”—at the aspiring desire for empire, which 
nothing but universal empire could satisfy, and which, 
more or less, forms the history of the Roman Pontiffs— 
the metropolitan bishop of such a church, the sovereign 
lord of such a palace ! Walk along those vast corridors, 
and view all the glory of Rome from their lofty windows; 
and can we wonder that its possessors could deem that 
in the palace of the Caesars they might also wield their 
power. It has been truly and finely said, that St. 
Peter’s is the grandest temple that man ever raised to 
his God, while the Vatican is the grandest he ever 
raised to himself. The world is changed, and the 
opinions of men have changed; but, whatever judg¬ 
ment may be pronounced of the Popes, in their spi¬ 
ritual characters, viewing them as temporal sovereigns, 


ROME. 


73 


the traveller who walks through the countless chambers 
of the Vatican, where the buried arts of the ancients, 
restored to the light of day again, challenge the admi¬ 
ration of mankind, will freely admit their claim to the 
gratitude of the scholar and the artist of every country. 
The first object of my pursuit was, naturally, those 
matchless works of the Grecian chisel, the “ Apollo Bel- 
videre,” and the “ Laocoonbut they occupy a distant 
part of the museo, and, however eager may be the 
desire of the stranger to behold them, he will find him¬ 
self involuntarily lingering before the crowd of other 
beautiful statues and objects, all so interesting and 
deserving of attention. The ancient world, Pagan and 
Christian, here illustrated by the most beautiful memo¬ 
rials, solicit his contemplation; and barren, indeed, 
must his mind be, who can pass them by unmoved. 
Amongst the first and most touching objects that 
present themselves to the visitor’s regard is, the in¬ 
teresting series of Christian monuments, or, rather, 
funeral inscriptions, which line an entire side of the 
great corridor by which he enters; they commence with 
the age of the apostles, and are generally in Greek: 
they are pointed and brief, as were all Grecian in¬ 
scriptions of the kind ; unlike those of the Romans, 
which are diffuse in fulsome panegyric of the virtues 
of the dead, and in recitals of the sorrow of the sur¬ 
viving relatives; but viewing those simple tributes of 
human affections and sorrows, we are frequently re¬ 
minded by some expressions, or by some holy and 
endearing symbol of our faith, that they were the 
offerings of those who mourned, but the same time 
felt that their affliction was “ light, and but for a 
moment”—who sorrowed, but with a sorrow full of 
the hope of immortality. 


E 






74 


ROME. 


In studying the statues of the celebrated men of 
Rome, there is nothing more striking than their air of 
truthfulness, and verisimilitude of life, if I may use so 
bold an expression. They at once impress us with the 
feelings, that the great men, whose names have been 
bruited in the world for 2,000 years, are faithfully deli¬ 
neated before us, with all their characteristic pecu¬ 
liarities, whether of features, figure, or costume. This 
is particularly observable in the statues of the empe¬ 
rors. They are faithful as the descriptions of Suetonius; 
and we equally recognise the bald first Caesar, in the 
strongly-defined features, the full mouth, “ ore paulo 
pleniore,” as well as in the rich laticlave and slovenly 
cincture, which recalls to our recollection the warning 
of Scylla to those who interceded with him for the life 
of the future tyrant, “ That they should beware of that 
badly-girded boy.” Equally truthful are the figures 
and busts of the other emperors. Who does not recog¬ 
nise “ the young Octavius” in that expansive brow, 
those placid and beautifully-formed features, which 
would be considered effeminate, but for the air of 
firmness that gives them a precocious dignity ; also, in 
keeping with what history relates of the ambitious and 
determined youth, quitting his studies at Apollonia, 
and disregarding the fears and entreaties of his mother, 
claiming his great but dangerous inheritance, the so¬ 
vereignty of the world. But some will ask, do we not 
look, and look in vain, in those placid features, for 
any traces of the bloody crimes which blackened the 
early career of the young triumvir? Of that I am 
not quite sure ; though it may be admitted that this 
bust of “ Octavius” is, apparently, a difficult one to re¬ 
concile with the theory of the physiognomist. I could 
not help thinking, as I contemplated it more atten- 


ROME. 


75 


tively, that we may detect in those beautiful but im¬ 
passive features, that cold calculation and relentless 
selfishness, that equally induced the bloody proscrip¬ 
tions of his triumvirate, and the politic clemency that 
consolidated his imperial power. This splendid statue 
of Augustus, as well as that of Tiberius, are both 
remarkable for their air of truthfulness. Sculpture and 
painting, in their epic flights (according to the opinion 
of Sir Joshua Reynolds), should surpass nature—certain 
it is, that nature and truthfulness are the very essence 
of true art, whether in painting or sculpture. It 
has been said, that it is an indication of a low state of 
the arts in a country, where this rage for busts and 
portraits prevails ; and it is too true, that in our own 
country, and at the present day, vulgar wealth has 
brought art, by such employments, to the lowest state 
of degradation. I suspect it was the same among the 
Romans, who not only never reached the standard of 
Grecian perfection, but do not even seem to have 
ever learned to appreciate the true and ennobling ob¬ 
jects of art. The rage for portraits was excessive ; at 
first, this passion was confined to the great; and al¬ 
though we find Horace expressing the dislike which 
he felt to this taste for portraiture, degrading to the 
artist, and often disagreeable to the patron— 

“ Nil moror officium quod me gravat ac neque ficto 
In pegus vultu proponi cereus usquam—opto.”—Hon. Ep. ii. 1—26. 


it still gained ground; and under the empire, not only 
the aediles and mayors of provincial cities, but even 
freedmen, gloried in possessing the marble effigies of 
their ancestors, and had them carried in their funeral 
processions, after the manner of the ancient senators. 





76 


HOME. 


It is to this that we may, therefore, attribute their 
excellence in this department of sculpture, which, I 
think, will be admitted by all who visit the galleries 
of Rome or Florence. The Greeks were more faith¬ 
ful to the true objects of art; and nearly all the fine 
works of ancient sculpture that we possess, of the heroic 
or historical kind, are by Grecian artists. And what 
beautiful models, of all that is most beautiful, have 
they not left us here ? The sleeping “ Ariadne,” the 
graceful “ Antinous,” but before, and above all, the “ Lord 
of the unerring bow,” the matchless “ Apollo Belvidere.” 
All ordinary description fails to convey any idea of 
this chef-d'oeuvre of Grecian art; criticism itself be¬ 
comes lost in admiration. It is ideal beauty—it is 
the creation of that ineffable “ to icaXovf the dream 
of the Grecian poets and philosophers, whose concep¬ 
tion and execution are alike divine. All feel, all 
acknowledge the beauty and glory of this great work, 
but to analyze and describe it, requires a kindred in¬ 
spiration and possession of the same “ divinus afflatus ,” 
which has given life and form to the impassive marble. 
The genius of Byron, in contemplating this masterpiece 
of sculpture, found noble exercise for his muse—his 
description of it is among the finest passages of his 
immortal poem, while its correctness, both of compre¬ 
hension and expression, proves how clearly allied are 
the fine arts with the feelings of true poetry. The 
poet, the painter, and the sculptor, have never failed 
to recognize and appreciate excellence in their mutual 
pursuits, when that excellence has really reached the 
point of the sublime and beautiful. Nothing but the 
immortal w r ork itself is finer than his description, which 
I cannot deny myself the pleasure of transcribing— 


ROME—THE “ APOLLO BELYIDERE.” 


77 


“ Go, view the ‘ lord of the unerring bow,’ 

The god of life, and poesy, and light, 

The sun, in human limbs array’d, and brow 
All radiant from his triumph in the fight. 

The shaft hath just been shot—the arrow light— 

With an immortal’s vengeance in his eye ; 

And nostril beautiful, disdain, and might, 

And majesty, flash their full lightnings by, 

Developing in that one glance, the deity.” 

It is, indeed, remarkable that, while critics and artists 
have started such various and conflicting opinions as to 
the capacity in which the god is referred to here, the 
poet, as if with a divine instinct, should at once have 
comprehended the design of the Grecian artist—it is 
not Apollo, in his healing character, nor even as the 
Pythian god—it is “ Apollo the Destroyer,” such as 
the great Grecian poet himself has described him. Yet, 
it seemed to me, that, mingled with immortal disdain, 
there is a look of godlike compassion, as if, while in¬ 
dicating his offended majesty, he was startled and 
pained by the swift destruction his wrath had pro¬ 
duced—the “ Apollo Belvidere” once seen, can never be 
forgotten. The group of the “Laocoon” is not calculated 
to inspire the same unmingled satisfaction, nor does it 
gain on our admiration, when fresh from the contem¬ 
plation of the perfect beauty of the “ Apollo.” If this 
group was not intended to represent the celebrated 
episode in the iEneid, it will, nevertheless, be ever as¬ 
sociated with it in the mind of every scholar; but I 
think it bears strong evidence of having been suggested 
by the description of the Roman poet. The principal 
figure—that of the wretched father himself—exactly 
answers the account given in the iEneid; and nothing 
in art can be more sublime than the manner in which 
the conception has been carried out. Never, by hu- 









78 


ROME—“ THE LAOCOON.” 


man hand, was intense agony, mental as well as 
bodily, so terribly, so really pourtrayed; but the two other 
figures of the group are not in keeping, either with 
the description, or what we would suppose them in nature 
to be. There is nothing childlike in his sons—theirs are 
not the li parva corpora ” intended by the Mantuan 
bard. Instead of children writhing in the terrible em¬ 
brace of the serpents, we behold two attendants, and 
withered manichini of uncertain age, and out of all pro¬ 
portion with the principal figure. There is a conse¬ 
quent want of unity, and we ask ourselves, can the father 
and sons be by the same artist. On no statue of 
Rome has the work of restoration been more exten¬ 
sively engaged, and, doubtless, it has suffered from this 
cause. It is said, that shortly after its discovery, its 
restoration was offered to Michael Angelo, but that 
great man, with the modesty so indicative of great 
genius, declined the task, “ because he could do no¬ 
thing worthy of so great a piece but his successors, 
amongst others that great undertaker Bernini, were 
not so scrupulous, and it is in the figures of the sons 
of “Laocoon” that the principal modern restorations are 
to be found. I have already quoted Byron’s beautiful 
description of the “Apollo”—that of the “ Laocoon” is 
equally fine ; and it is observable that the poet confines 
himself to the principal figure:— 

“ Or, turning to the Vatican, go see 
Laocoon’s torture—dignifying pain, 

A father’s love, and mortal’s agony, 

With an immortal patience blending : vain 
The struggle, vain against the coiling strain, 

And gripe, and deepening of the dragon’s grasp, 

The old man’s clench—the long-envenom’d chain, 

Rivets the long links—the enormous asp— 

Enforces pang on pang—and stifles gasp on gasp.” 


ROME—THE VATICAN. 


79 


Amongst the most interesting and valuable collections 
in the Vatican, is the gallery of sculptured animals. One 
is equally astonished at the variety of the whole, as at 
the excellence of the detail. Nothing of all the relics of 
antiquity gives us a more striking idea of the power of 
ancient sculpture, and of the perfection to which this 
art must have been brought. The paintings of Landseer 
would appear tame and unfinished in the midst of this 
marble menagerie of art, as it has been happily called, 
where all the beasts of the forest seem to move before 
us. Wonderful, indeed, is the spirit and fidelity with 
which these animals are represented; and profound must 
have been the study and acquaintance of zoology in the 
sculptors that produced them. They are said to have 
been Grecian, probably by Grecians settled in Rome, 
where the vast collections of wild beasts in the Amphi¬ 
theatre, and the passion of Romans for the combats of 
wild beasts, encouraged them to turn their attention to 
this branch of sculpture, which they brought to this ex¬ 
traordinary perfection. Certainly, if they were done 
by Grecian artists, they confirm the testimony of Juve¬ 
nal to the wonderful aptitude of the Greeks for any 
pursuit:— 

“ Grammaticus rhetor geometres pictor aliptes, 

Augur schoenobates medicus magus, omnia novit 

Grseculus esuriens, in coelum jusseris, ibit.”— Juv. Sat. iii. 75. 

I was anxious to have an opportunity of visiting the 
Vatican library. It was not because I anticipated much 
learned edification, that I desired to see this vast store¬ 
house of learning, but merely with the feeling that 
induces many others to do so, namely, that it is some¬ 
thing to behold even the outside of venerable books 
and manuscripts. To gain admission, however, is 






80 


ROME—THE VATICAN. 


not so easy, owing to the early hour at which it 
closes, but, above all, to the multitude of saints’-days 
and festivals. Indeed, for purposes of reference and 
study to the learned, I fear it would not much matter 
if this collection shared the fate of the Alexandrian 
library; or, as it seems in a fair way of doing now, 
that of many other celebrated collections, “ Qua tineas 
pascit taciturnus inertes.” But, when I did get in, I 
had not even the satisfaction of viewing the outsides 
of these literary treasures; deposited in presses, the 
“ custode ” thought it enough (as, doubtless, it was) to 
give me a hurried recital of their respective contents, 
now and then permitting me to inspect something that 
he thought might be interesting—amongst other things, 
the letters of Henry VIII. to Anne Boleyn, and his 
celebrated work in defence of the seven sacraments. 
The notice of English travellers is, indeed, always stu¬ 
diously invited to the consideration of these documents, 
as if with a view of disparaging the Reformation in 
England, by shewing in whom and from what it ori¬ 
ginated ; but, whatever they may allege of the Anglican 
church establishment, marred as it has ever been by 
usurpation and worldly-mindedness, and a subservient 
and compromising alliance with authority, they well 
know that, in the work of the Reformation, the lustful 
tyrant was but the blind instrument in the fulfilling 
of the purposes of that Being, who, putting “ a hook 
in the nose, and a bridle in the mouth” of kings, could 
make even a Pharaoh or a Cyrus the minister of his 
will. There are few objects of antiquity more interest¬ 
ing than that beautiful fresco known as the “ Nozze 
Aldobrandine,” from having long formed the chief orna¬ 
ment of the villa of that name. Until the discoveries 
of Pompeii and Herculaneum, it was considered the 


HOME—THE VATICAN. 


81 


finest specimen extant of ancient painting. Nicholas 
Poussin, who so profoundly studied all the remains of 
the ancients, and therefrom derived that classic cha¬ 
racter so remarkable in his paintings, made it his con¬ 
stant study, and has left a beautiful copy of the “Nozze,” 
which is still preserved in the Doria palace. Sir Joshua 
Reynolds, in his admirable discourses on painting, makes 
it the subject of his panegyric ; and the celebrated John 
Bell, the anatomist, speaks of it in the highest terms 
of admiration. It is said by antiquarians to represent 
the marriage of Peleus and Thetis; but many, on a 
little consideration, will consider this conclusion unsa¬ 
tisfactory. It is true that the costume and accessories 
are Greek, but there is nothing to enable us to identify 
the sea-goddess, in the enveloped and bashful figure 
seated on the “ triclinium.” The attendants do not 
appear more exalted than the ordinary attendants on 
such ceremonies, and the back-ground is, indeed, as 
Mr. Williams has truly described it, “ taken up by a 
screenwhereas we read that the nuptials of Peleus 
and Thetis were attended by all the deities, and was 
celebrated with the greatest pomp on Mount Pelion. 
The bridegroom, seated at the foot of the triclinium, 
instead of the nuptial fillet of roses, is adorned with a 
chaplet of vine leaves, the appropriate crown of Bacchus. 
Altogether, it would be as safe to call this beautiful 
relic of antiquity the marriage of Bacchus and Ariadne. 
Bacchus and the “ imberbis Apollo,” were the favourite 
subjects with the Greek artists for representing manly 
beauty; and the attitude of the bridegroom is admi¬ 
rably chosen to display all that is most beautiful in 
the human figure, and is a model of strength and grace 
united. But, in truth, it is a bootless inquiry; and, 
whether the painting represents the marriage of Peleus 

e 2 








82 


ROME—CICERONI. 


and Thetis, or of Bacchus and Ariadne, or neither, 
which is, perhaps, most likely, it will ever continue to 
be, and most deservedly, an object of study to the artist, 
and of curiosity to the scholar. 

As I have ventured in the present instance to hazard 
a doubt as to the nomenclature of Homan antiquities, 
I may as well go further, and confess that I entertain 
a very grave suspicion of their accuracy. Doubtless, 
the opinions of such profound writers as Niebuhr and 
Winckelman are entitled to the greatest respect, but 
their opinions are often conflicting, and cannot prevent 
the popular taste for giving illustrious names and uses 
to every relic and ancient object when discovered ; time 
and further investigation shew their fallacy, but cannot 
change the name when once bestowed. But this habit 
of associating illustrious men and great incidents with 
the venerable objects of antiquity, is too strong and 
delightful to admit of dispassionate inquiry. The mo¬ 
numents of Home derive, perhaps, their principal charm 
and interest from this source, and while the learned 
cavil and dispute, the poetical and imaginative muse 
and enjoy, and are contenting themselves with the 
satisfying aphorism— 

“ Se non e vero e ben trovato.” 

But another great cause of the confusion that has 
arisen in the denomination of the few antiques that 
have come to hand is, the number of that tribe of 
ciceroni that haunt the repositories of these curiosities, 
and whose modicum of learning bears no proportion to 
their powers of invention. This leads to a good deal 
of confusion and anachronism; as an example of which, 
we may cite another celebrated monument in the Vati¬ 
can—the sarcophagus of Scipio. In spite of the very 


ROME—CICERONI. 


83 


inscription itself, this is commonly shown as that of 
the great Scipio Africanus ; and even those who know 
better, with Murray’s admirable guide-book in their 
hands, believe that the bust of Peperino, crowned with 
laurel, placed above the sarcophagus, is that of the 
poet Ennius, the friend and cotemporary, not of Cor¬ 
nelius Lucius Scipio, but of his more illustrious grand¬ 
son, in whose exile and tomb at Liternum he equally 
shared. In the history of that truly great and virtuous 
Roman, there is, indeed, no more honourable incident 
than his friendship for Ennius. Cicero makes a beau¬ 
tiful and apposite allusion to it, in his celebrated de¬ 
fence of the poet Archias.* 

Disgusted with the ingratitude and increasing cor¬ 
ruption of the Romans, Africanus retired into exile in 
the country at Liternum, where, blessed with the love 
of his affectionate wife, ^Emilia, and the society of his 
faithful and gifted friend, the poet Ennius, he passed 
the remainder of his days in domestic tranquillity; and, 
so great was his aversion to Rome, that he ordered 
his bones not to be conveyed thither; they were, 
accordingly, interred at Liternum, where his wife, one 
of the noblest matrons of Rome, placed upon the mau¬ 
soleum which she erected to his memory the bust of 
the poet Ennius, as a pleasing memorial of their mutual 
friendship. The incident was too tempting for the 
Roman ciceroni. Yet, surely, no one will regret that, 
at the expense of a slight anachronism, we are made 
to revert to one of the most affecting passages in the 
life of the greatest man of republican Rome. One 

* “ Charus fuit Africano superiori noster Ennius; itaque etiam in 
sepulchra Scipionum putatur is esse constitutus e marmore. At iis 
laudibus certe non solum ipsi qui laudantur sed etiam populi Romani 
nomen omatur.”— Cioero pro Archia Poeta. 





84 


ROME. 


must visit the Vatican for months, before the mind 
can even take in any idea of the treasures that it con¬ 
tains ; and, when that is done, we feel that the study 
of a single department would require the devotion of a 
life. Have- we viewed its small, but matchless col¬ 
lection of paintings, “ learning heavenly things” from 
the divine Raphael, Avhen gazing with rapture on the 
glory of the “Transfiguration,” or on the ineffable beauty 
of the “ Madonna da Foligne ?” Have we, at the end of 
a winter in Rome, been able even to survey all the monu¬ 
ments and antiquities of the ancients, here collected 
from so many quarters ? Still, the walls of the Vatican 
itself remain to claim our admiration, where no hum¬ 
bler genius than that of Michael Angelo and the 
divine Raphael was occupied for years ! 

Every one who would study the most extraordinary, 
if not the greatest work, of one of the greatest intellects 
that even Raly ever produced, will visit the Sistine chapel, 
to behold the “ Last Judgment” of Michael Angelo. 
But the result, I think, is the conviction, rendered more 
cogent, even after perusing all the subtle and philosophic 
reasoning of Burke, that there is indeed an essential 
difference between the sublime and beautiful. Michael 
Angelo had for his design the immortal epic of his 
illustrious countryman; in carrying it out, he has exhibited 
an imagination at once terrible and original; but can 
painting be properly applied to such a subject? In poetry 
these awful speculations are not so painful; they may 
naturally accompany the didactic object of the poet, and, 
as pictures of the mind, pass as rapidly as the winged 
words that have called them forth ; but the first object 
of the painter must ever be to please. Even in poetry 
the human mind becomes callous and apathetic, at the 
continued contemplation of an infinitude of woes, till at 


ROME. 


85 


length, like Macbeth, having “ supped full of horrors,” 
it cannot even be moved by the direst shapes that 
the poet can conjure up. It may even be said that 
the mind would revolt from the dreadful scenes of the 
“ Inferno,” did we not feel that they were allegorical. 

As it is, with, what relief does the reader turn from 
the minute and terrible recital of imaginary punishments 
and ingenious tortures, to such pathetic episodes as that 
of Francesca di Rimini, in the “ Inferno,” and of his own 
Beatrice, in the “ Paradiso.” 

In the “ Last Judgment” of Michael Angelo, it is 
human mortal anguish that is presented, and that, too, 
with all the life-like and vigorous truth so striking in the 
workings of this wonderful man. But, though mortal, 
his portraits have that strange unearthly look which 
cannot be described, but which those who have seen 
his “ Weird Sisters” in the Pitti Palace, will not easily 
forget. 

Milton, while taking a bolder flight than either the Ita¬ 
lian poet or the Italian painter, is yet always restrained 
by a more chastened appreciation of the nature of his 
subject; and whether he describes the fall of the arch¬ 
angels or of our own race, it is intellectual suffering, it 
is mental anguish, that he brings before us; and not 
all the fearful punishments of the “ Inferno,” so elabo¬ 
rately described, convey as sublime a terror as the brief 
exclamation of Satan— 

“ Which way I fly is hell; myself am hell!” 

Indeed, when we institute the comparison, it is impossible 
not to be struck with the vast superiority of the solemn 
and religious strains of the great English poet, to those 
of his Italian predecessor, so frequently disturbed by 





86 


ROME. 


human passion, and desecrated by human feelings. In 
regarding the great work of Michael Angelo, we are 
naturally recalled to the “ Divina Commedia,” as it is 
well known that the illustrious painter professed that 
it was from thence he drew his inspiration ; but it is 
also natural for an Englishman, in contemplating it, 
to enter into a comparison between these two produc¬ 
tions of Italian poetry and painting, and the “ Paradise 
Lost ” of his immortal countryman—the greatest epic 
poem, beyond comparison, of the modern world: and 
there is much instruction to be drawn from their joint 
consideration. Whence did Milton derive the lofty su¬ 
periority of his sacred song? Not from profane writ¬ 
ings ; but from the inspired Word of God. He wrote 
at a time, and in a country, where the awakened mind 
of man had been turned with a mighty influence to the 
true source of all wisdom; and it was from that source 
that he derived all that grandeur of thought and ex¬ 
pression which harmonized with his immortal theme. 
But in the days of Dante, the Bible, if not to himself, 
at least to the world in general, was a sealed book ; and 
the poet was content to take the Mantuan bard as his 
guide and instructor through realms, about which his 
notions were as vague and undefined as those of his 
illustrious guide in his own description in the ./Eneid. 
Bacon has truly said, that the poets were the doctors 
of their religion amongst the nations of antiquity ; and 
let the Word of God be closed, and we are at once re¬ 
duced to the same state of things, and are led blind¬ 
fold at the. guidance of blind guides. Such were Dante 
and the Italian poets, who drew from the ancients all 
their illustrations, and aspired to no higher distinction 
than that of faithful imitators of their ancient masters. 
When, therefore, they treat of the dark and secret 


ROME. 


87 


things of futurity, their opinions have no more claims 
to respect than the fabulous fancies of the mythological 
poets; and, consequently, want the authority and im¬ 
press of truth in which the poem of Milton is so strongly 
entrenched. 

In the “Last Judgment,” with much that is sublime, 
we have also much that we cannot help regarding as 
grotesque, and repugnant to taste as well as reason. 
In fact, we have all the dramatis personce and machinery 
of ancient and modern Rome. Above, is the Saviour; 
below, Charon and the river Styx, Saint Peter and his 
keys, saints and mortals, martyrs and demons. In all 
this, I have been merely considering the moral design 
and conception exemplified in this extraordinary work. 
It would be presumption in any one but an artist to 
treat of it as a work of art: artists of every age have 
spoken of it with wonder and admiration ; and even when 
we cannot sympathize in its details, it would be rash 
in any one to pronounce them extravagant or affected. 
It is altogether with feelings of delight that we turn 
to those beautiful “ stanze ” where the divine genius of the 
great rival of Michael Angelo has lavished such wondrous 
beauty and glory. It is impossible to select any parti¬ 
cular object as pre-eminently deserving our admiration. 
Every figure that the hand of Raphael himself has called 
forth, is perfect, and easily recognizable in the paintings 
where other artists, however great, have been employed. 
The “ stanze'' of Raphael, in every point of view considered, 
will ever form one of the most remarkable subjects in the 
history of the human intellect. What can be grander in 
conception and execution than the “ Expulsion of Helio- 
dorus from the Temple ?” Truly glorious and divine 
was the mind of Raphael Sanzio—his imagination was 
essentially pure and spiritual: how melancholy, then, 





86 


ROME. 


to see it occupied on such a work as the “ Miracle of 
Bolsona ”—a pandering to the worldly pride and usurpa¬ 
tion of the Roman pontiffs. But such was ever the 
fate of genius in Italy ; it was at once encouraged and 
debased, glorified and enslaved. 

Enough, then, of the arts and artists, and of popes and 
cardinals, their patrons. Let us stroll homewards by the 
yellow Tiber, crossing the Milvian bridge : or shall we 
pass through the Borgo, memorable as the quarter of 
Rome once inhabited by the Saxon pilgrims and strangers, 
and where the Pope is said (according to popular tradition) 
to have encountered the beautiful Saxon children, that 
led to the mission of St. Augustine ? The Borgo is also 
interesting to Englishmen, for containing the palace once 
occupied by Cardinal Wolsey, when ambassador in Rome, 
and now so well known from the hospitalities of Prince 
Torlonia. In my visits to the Vatican, I used to vary my 
walk by following one route going, and another coming 
back, wending my way in the morning by the Ripetto, 
across the bridge of St. Angelo to St. Peter’s and the 
Vatican, and returning in the evening across the Milvian 
bridge. 

The Mole of Adrian, now the castle of St. Angelo, a 
fortress and state prison, is, after St. Peter's, perhaps the 
best known and most familiar object that meets the 
stranger in modern Rome. It enters into almost every 
view and painting of the “ Eternal City,” and, certainly, in 
itself, is sufficiently remarkable to account for this dis¬ 
tinction. Its style, as well as its history, are too well 
known to require description, There is no monument in 
Rome so pregnant with moral instruction ; erected, in 
imitation of the colossal works of the Egyptians, as the 
mausoleum of the pagan emperor, it has become the 
stronghold of the aspiring bishops of that church which 


ROME. 


89 


he so fiercely persecuted—those mitred lords of Rome, 
“ In veste di pastor lupi rapacibut though a fortress, 
it still remains a living tomb to many, the victims of the 
jealousy of a weak and suspicious government. 

The mausoleum of the great Augustus, in the Campo 
Mazo, has met with still greater desecration ; it now 
serves as the theatre for tight-rope dancing and buffoonery, 
to the lowest orders of the Romans ! It is the reflections 
which such wonderful changes suggest to the mind, that 
make Rome what our great modern poet has so well de¬ 
scribed it—“ the city of the soul.” Babylon, Troy, Athens, 
all yield, in point of interest, to the “ Eternal City 
and while one stone remains upon another, that interest 
will for ever endure. Returning from the Vatican, it was 
my wont to pursue that beautiful road which, shaded by 
lofty trees, leads to the Milvian bridge, along the course 
of the yellow Tiber. This is one of the favorite drives of 
the Roman nobility, as it is one of the most agreeable 
walks to our own more active countrymen. It also affords 
us an opportunity of visiting the Villa Madama, celebrated 
for the magnificent view it commands of the Campagna, 
and for the memory of many illustrious names associated 
with it. It crowns the summit of Monte Mario, so pro¬ 
minent and picturesque a feature in the view from the 
Pincian mount. The history of this villa is curious : it 
was built by the Cardinal Giulio di Medici, from the 
designs of Raphael, and after his death, completed by his 
great pupil, Giulio Romano. It derives its name from 
the celebrated Margaret of Austria, the natural daughter 
of Charles V., who lived here. After the death of 
her first husband, Alessandro di Medici, she married 
into the Farnese family, from whom the villa passed 
to the Neapolitan Bourbons. It now belongs to the 


/ 







90 


ROME. 


King of Naples, and has fallen into the most complete 
ruin. Few traces remain of the taste and magnifi¬ 
cence which once rendered it the most magnificent 
villa about Rome. We now pass over the Milvian 
bridge, which derives a new interest from the recent 
contemplation of Raphael’s great picture of the battle 
here gained by Constantine over Maxentius, although 
more interesting to the scholar for its connexion 
with Cicero, and the Catiline conspiracy: and so on 
to the Porta del Popolo. 

A stroll on Monte Pincio, the ancient Collis Hor- 
tulorum, where were the gardens of Sallust, and on 
whose grounds Claude Lorraine, as we are told, used 
to sit and contemplate the beautiful sunsets which have 
so often proved the distinctive charm of his glowing 
landscapes, generally concluded my day’s wanderings 
in Rome. And where, indeed, does an Italian sunset 
appear more splendid than from Monte Pincio ? The 
whole of modern, and the greater part of ancient Rome 
is stretched beneath our feet—its countless domes and 
towers bathed in the glowing beams of the setting orb, 
as he sinks behind the heights of Monte Mario. Never 
does St. Peter’s appear more glorious, than at that 
delightful hour. The sun sets, and every object stands 
out in relief against the purple sky, with a clearness 
and beauty that cannot be expressed. We can, as we 
gaze upon the colossal structure of St. Angelo, behold 
the threatening sword of the archangel; and we feel 
as if we could believe half the Romish legends of sunset 
visions. 

To conclude this account of a “ day’s doings” in 
Rome, which we have here “ noted in a book,” night 
would find me enjoying, amidst the most musical 


ROME. 


91 


audience of Europe, the delightful strains of Fiezzolini 
at the Argentina. Nothing can equal the enthusiasm 
of the Romans for the opera and the ballet. Grave and 
haughty, often even morose, we can hardly believe them 
to be the same people in the evening. Their natural 
feelings, pent up and restrained by a forced conformity 
with an ascetic and hypocritical system, here burst forth 
unrestrained; and the greater the licence, either of lan¬ 
guage or gesture, the more loud and vehement becomes 
their applause. The priestly authorities, while they 
look with no very kindly eye on the theatres at Rome, 
feel that they dare not directly interfere with them. 
They exercise over the representations, however, as 
vigilant a censorship as they can with safety—excluding 
some pieces, altering and softening others, and even 
admitting some under a different name. As an in¬ 
stance of this last, may be adduced the opera of Lucrezia 
Borgia, which is a great favourite with the Romans, 
but which, as reflecting on one of the papal families, 
is not allowed to be represented under its proper name ; 
for, if appearances are only regarded, the authorities 
are easily satisfied at Rome. This principle is, indeed, 
exemplified very generally in Roman manners ; and, 
indeed, here, Moliere’s “ Tartuffe” is as useful a guide as 
Murray’s hand-book. 

If we were to judge by appearances, we should pro¬ 
nounce Rome the most moral and virtuous city in 
Europe. Nothing can equal its aspect of staid and 
solemn decorum. Fasting, and praying, and tinkling 
bells, seem to be the only order of the day. But a 
little more acquaintance with it will serve to make us 
alter our first opinion. There are days when the cafes 
and restaurants are closed, and the unhappy heretic 






92 


ROME. 


hears with dismay that he cannot have his egg, and 
must drink his cafe noir in honour of the Virgin ; but 
the compassionate cjar^on soon quiets his alarm, by 
pointing to an inner room, where in private he may 
call for what he pleases. This will illustrate my mean¬ 
ing. It is capable of very wide illustration; but I 
forbear any further. 



ROME. 


93 


CHAPTER VIII. 


Palaces of Rome—Villas of Rome—The Borghese—Bernini—The French Academy— 
The “ Villa Mills” on the Palatine—Grotto of Egeria—The Campagna of Rome— 
The Aqueduct—Tivoli—Departure from Rome for Florence. 

Forsyth truly observes of the Roman palaces, that 
if they could be collected together, they would form a 
magnificent city in themselves ; but, as it is, one has 
to hunt them out through some of the vilest lanes and 
quarters of the city, where these vast and splendid 
structures appear in striking contrast with the squalid 
wretchedness of all around them. To attempt any de¬ 
tailed account of these great edifices would be nearly 
as difficult as to give a description of their contents. 
Elsewhere, one of these palaces would confer celebrity 
on any ordinary town in Europe ; but in Rome, amidst 
the endless objects of interest that solicit our attention, 
we are obliged to single out and arrange ; so that at last 
we only remember the most remarkable of these beautiful 
structures, and that too, perhaps, only from being the 
repository of some work of art that has fixed itself on our 
recollection. It is for this reason that the Borghese is 
recalled to us, as the resting-place of the “ Chase of 
Diana,” Raphael’s “ Entombment of Christ,” Titian’s 
beautiful picture, “ Sacred and Profane Love,” and that 
splendid portrait of Caesar Borgia, by Raphael. But 
how can we omit mentioning the two portraits of the 








94 


ROME. 


divine Raphael, by himself? How familiar to us are 
those beautiful and penserose lineaments, which corres¬ 
pond so well with all that his admiring cotemporaries 
have recorded of that gentle and gifted spirit. In the 
same way we remember the Palazzo Barberini for Ra¬ 
phael’s “ Fornasina,” and Guido’s “ Cencithe Corsini, 
for the landscapes of Salvator Rosa, Nicholas and Gaspar 
Poussin, and the rival “ Ecce Homo” of Guercino. The 
Doria is brought back to us, as the home of the works 
of Poussin; the Caracci and the Farnese for their fres¬ 
coes ; the Rospigliosi, for Guido’s “ Aurora and the 
Palazzo Spada, for the celebrated statue of the great 
Roman, now almost its only ornament. I may men¬ 
tion, in connexion with this last palace, the statue of 
Pompey, which is one of the most interesting monu¬ 
ments of ancient Rome, and is considered, on high 
authority, to have been the very statue that stood in 
the hall of the forum, and “ e’en at whose base great 
Caesar fell.” This statue, as Suetonius informs us, was 
removed after Caesar’s assassination, by order of Au¬ 
gustus, from the hall in which it stood, and placed 
before the portico of Pompey’s theatre ; and it is curious 
enough that, in another of the palaces—the Palazzo 
della Cancellaria—forty-four of the granite columns of 
this famous portico are now found existing, and form 
to this day the noblest “ cortile ” in Rome. 

After the palaces, the villas of Rome engage our 
attention. They have been enriched from the same 
sources as the palaces, at the same time that, in like 
manner, the history of their founders often affords us 
examples of princely talents and means devoted to the 
study and encouragement of learning and the fine arts. 
What a satire on the Meecenases of the present day, 
and of our country in particular, are these splendid 


ROME. 


95 


galleries of the palaces and villas of Rome ? The means 
of the generality of the nobility no longer permit them 
to indulge in the munificent classic tastes of their ances¬ 
tors ; but, amidst all the revolutions of Italy, and the 
general decay of private fortunes, it is highly creditable 
to find so many fine collections of pictures, preserved 
with as much fidelity as they are exhibited with libe¬ 
rality. Many fine galleries have been, indeed, sold and 
dispersed, but we may well believe that the necessity 
that led to such a sacrifice must have been indeed 
extreme. When an Englishman parts with a picture, 
he parts with something that has ministered to his 
ostentation, or notions of magnificence; but when an 
Italian noble parts with a picture, he parts with a plea¬ 
sure—he separates from an- object of his affection. I 
speak in general, for we meet with many in both coun¬ 
tries who rise above, or fall below, their countrymen in 
this matter. And then, what an example of liberality 
do the Roman nobility give us, in thus throwing open 
to the public, at all times and seasons, their magnificent 
galleries, and the princely salons of their palaces ? 
Hereby they shew that they really love the fine arts, 
and are anxious to promote the study of them ; for a 
genuine love of the arts is an active feeling, that, de¬ 
lights in propagandism. We cannot be insensible to 
this liberality, when strolling daily from palace to pa¬ 
lace, and villa to villa, as if they were our own ; nor 
avoid recalling with pain how differently they manage 
these things in England. What a work, for example, 
it would be, to be admitted into the gallery of that great 

lord of brick and mortar, the Marquis of -; and, 

then, what a douceur to some of “ my lord’s gentlemen ?” 
“ A few cardinals,” says Forsyth, “erected all the great 
villas of Rome—their riches, their taste, their learning, 









96 


ROME. 


their leisure, their frugality,” all combined to this 
single object—while the eminent founder was squander¬ 
ing thousands on a statue, he would allow but one 
crown for his own dinner. He had no children—no 
stud—no dogs to keep up; he built, indeed, for his own 
pleasure, or for the admiration of others, but, at the 
same time, he embellished the country, and promoted 
the resort of distinguished foreigners, for whom he 
afforded a high intellectual treat, at the expense of a 
few pounds. How seldom are great fortunes spent so 
elegantly in England! How many are absorbed in 
the table, the turf, or the field !—expenses which cen¬ 
tre and end in the rich egotist himself. What Eng¬ 
lish villa is open like the Borghese, as a common 
drive to the whole metropolis; and how finely is 
this liberality announced in the inscription on the 
pedestal of an ancient statue in the park ?—“ Quisquis 
es si’liber ito quo voles petito quae cupis, abito quando 
voles.” 

I could not help transcribing this well-known and 
striking passage, which does, however, but justice to 
the Roman cardinals, for their munificent encouragement 
of the fine arts—a liberality which almost inclines us 
to forget the dark catalogue of crimes and vices with 
which their order has been charged. In the liberality 
of the present possessors of these beautiful villas, and 
in the desire they manifest to make them contribute to 
the enjoyment of the inhabitants and strangers of Rome, 
we at least see something of the spirit of their Roman 
ancestors, who, amongst their most memorable acts, were 
wont to bequeath their beautiful gardens and villas to 
the Roman people ; thereby taking an effectual and 
most grateful means of living in the remembrance of 
their countrymen. In the Villa Borghese—the most 


ROME. 


97 

beautiful villa in Rome, whether we consider its park 
or Casino—a fine classic taste pervades every object 
we behold. Elegant little temples and altars, with ap¬ 
propriate inscriptions, invite the mind to the agreeable 
and long-forgotten studies of our youth, as we pace 
its shady walks, or sit, “ sub umbrosa ilice,” in pleasing 
meditation. All are welcomed, none denied, to wander 
here; the very stream must not be diverted from its 
course—“ Ne quis impediat cursum mitissimi amnis,” is 
inscribed on an aqueduct thrown across the road that 
leads to the Casino. How grateful is it to turn from 
the noise of the Corso, or the crowds of the Pincian, 
and wander in the cypress avenues of this beautiful 
retreat; here repairs the aspiring artist to refresh the 
mind, tired with the intenseness of its own concep¬ 
tions, as well as the humble artisan, to solace himself 
after his daily toil; and a pleasant sight it is to witness, 
on festival days, whole families, in delighted groups, 
wandering round the margin of the little lake, or seated 
on the grassy benches of its Hippodrome. Would that 
our nobility and gentry could be induced to imitate 
Prince Borghese*; they may be assured that the feelings 
of the dispenser of so much happiness meet their 
own reward, while they exalt and honor their posses¬ 
sor. But the Prince does not content himself with 
merely throwing open his beautiful villa to the people 
of Rome. A few months before my visit, he delighted 
the lower orders with a succession of shows and games, 
on a scale of magnificence that would have done honor 
to an ancient patrician. Indeed, nothing is more characte¬ 
ristic of Italian manners, than the absence of what we 
call exclusiveness, and the frequency and harmony with 
which the different classes of society meet together; 

their numerous public fetes and religious ceremonies tend 

F 







98 


ROME—THE VILLA BORGHESE. 


to this, but it is still more the result of national character, 
of that gentleness and want of arrogance to inferiors, 
and love of popularity, which have long distinguished the 
modern Italians. 

The Casino Borghese is, perhaps, the most magni¬ 
ficent of the Roman villas, and the most characte¬ 
ristic in its style of architecture. Its beautiful portico, 
sixty feet long, supported by Doric pilasters, enriched by 
bas-reliefs, has a striking effect, to which its splendid 
saloon and chambers correspond; all that wealth could 
effect has been done to adorn and beautify the interior; 
but unfortunately, the Casino was built when the arts in 
Italy were rapidly declining, and, therefore, its frescoes 
and embellishments are not at all of the same order 
with those of the Roman edifices and villas, generally, 
while the greater part of the splendid antiquities and 
works of art which once filled the Casino, are now found, 
as Murray informs us, in the Louvre and other galleries. 
Here, however, we still find amongst the sculptures 
some interesting works of Bernini, executed at the ex¬ 
traordinary early age of eighteen—a sculptor who not¬ 
withstanding the censures of artists and # connoisseurs, it 
will always be difficult not to admire. Amongst other 
objects, there is a “ Daphne,” which is remarkable for the 
bold manner in which the young artist has represented 
her metamorphosis. Here we also find the “ Hermaphro¬ 
dite,” that strange conception, of which the Greek and 
Roman sculptors were so fond, the most beautiful figure 
of the kind now existing ; and here, too, more beautiful 
and interesting, perhaps, than all, is that lovely full- 
length figure of the Princess Paulina Borghese, by 
Canova, about which they tell a story more polisson 
than credible. The fine series of porphyry busts of the 
Roman emperors and sarcophagi will also interest the 


ROME—THE VILLA BORGHESE, 


99 


stranger. From the grounds of the Villa Borghese, as, 
indeed, from a great part of Rome, the Villa Medici is 
a prominent and beautiful object; it stands at the ex¬ 
tremity of the Pincian hill, overlooking the city, and is 
now the seat of the French academy. Well may 
the French people be proud of such an establish¬ 
ment—well may they style themselves “la grande 
nation,” for munificent and uniform has been the en¬ 
couragement of the fine arts by France, under every 
regime, whether regal or republican, imperial or Louis 
Philippian. 

It is most discreditable to England that our young 
artists at Rome do not possess a similar institution. The 
few that are sent out by the Royal Academy possess no 
peculiar advantages. The greater number, however, 
depend on their own resources, or the munificence of pri¬ 
vate individuals, and, in general, beyond their scanty 
stipends, and a few letters of introduction, are left to 
their own unaided exertions. It is unnecessary to point 
out all the difficulties the young English student 
has to contend with in Rome; his very religion is 
against him, for it is a disgraceful exception to the 
general liberality in every country except here, that 
some of the societies of artists are closed to Pro¬ 
testants. How different is the position of the French 
student, protected by a powerful institution, where he 
finds at once guidance and encouragement in his studies, 
and a point of re-union and congenial society, aided, 
moreover, by the ambassador of his country, who is 
charged, as part of his instructions, to see that French 
artists receive every facility in their studies. 

If the artists of France have not exhibited greater 
excellence, it must be owing to a want of genius, 
or false taste, and not a want of encouragement on 


< 







100 


ROME. 


the part of their government, while, on the other 
hand, British artists have won their high distinc¬ 
tions, in spite of the neglect and apathy of theirs; 
relying only on themselves, they have shewn the 
same indomitable energy and perseverance which 
has ever distinguished their country ; and the re¬ 
sult has been that English artists in Rome now 
enjoy a reputation which, while it is doubly 
honourable to themselves, is a reproach to their go¬ 
vernment. But let us hope, that in these days of 
enlightened progress, this grand want will be supplied 
before long, and that in the “ Eternal City,” the 
great nursing-mother of the arts, as the sturdiest Pro¬ 
testant will, at least, acknowledge her, English artists 
may be afforded the advantage of a national institute, 
and English travellers a point of elegant and enlight¬ 
ened re-union. 

Of all the villas of Rome, perhaps the Villa Pam- 
fili Doria is the one that is most likely to please 
Englishmen ; the grounds are very extensive, and com-. 
mand beautiful views; the gardens are laid out in good 
taste, and well kept, and altogether, this villa comes 
nearer to our ideas of a country place—an aspect, 
which, excepting the Borghese, none of the villas of 
Rome possess. 

The Villa Ludovisi will be visited for the celebra¬ 
ted fresco of “ Aurora,” by Guercino, one of the most 
pleasing and successful works of this great and favorite 
artist; it is generally preferred to the “Aurora” of Guido, 
and, indeed, seems a subject better suited to the style 
and genius of the former; however, as I have heard 
the matter frequently disputed, I will not be the fool 
to step in where “angels fear to tread,” but eschew¬ 
ing all critical acumen in painting, will content my- 


HOME. 


101 


self with saying, that I derived much pleasure from the 
study of both. The Villa Albani is one < of the most 
famous in Rome. Forsyth’s brief but animated de¬ 
scription of it has made it well known to Englishmen— 
“Here,” he says, “is a villa of exquisite design, planned 
by a profound antiquary—here Cardinal Albani, having 
spent his life in collecting ancient sculpture, formed 
such porticoes and such saloons to receive it, as an old 
Roman would have done;” but much of the ancient 
sculpture, in pursuance of Bonaparte’s policy of embel¬ 
lishing Paris, was carried away at the time of the 
French invasion, and, unfortunately, did not find its 
way back at the restoration; but the classic porticoes 
and galleries are there as beautiful as ever, and still, 
so much of its marble treasures remain, that it is ranked 
as the third collection in Rome, being only surpassed, 
as Murray observes, by the Vatican and Capitol. Among 
much that is beautiful, we are particularly struck 
with the exquisite bronze statue of Apollo, supposed 
to be the work of Praxiteles, and so greatly admired; 
but above all, pre-eminent in beauty, is the Antinous, 
crowned with lotus flowers, which Winkelmann has 
described with such rapture—“ This work,” says he, 
“after the ‘Apollo’ and the ‘ Laocoon,’ is, perhaps, the 
most beautiful monument that time has transmitted to 
us.” 

In my brief enumeration of the villas in Rome, it 
would not be possible to omit the Villa Mills, so call¬ 
ed, after an English gentleman of that name, to whom 
it belongs, and which now occupies a considerable 
portion of the sacred Palatine Mount; the gardens 
(says Murray, in his handbook), are prettily laid out, 
and Mr. Mills has given to the whole villa an air of 
comfort, which makes our English habits and taste con- 











102 


ROME. 


trast, in a striking manner, with the ruins of the im¬ 
perial palace—a contrast, indeed! Of all the strange 
transformations in Rome, none is, perhaps, stranger than 
this, and the simple style of the guidebook only ren¬ 
ders it more striking. What a conjunction of names 
and things—English habits and English comforts, and 
English Mills, in the palace of the Caesars! How 
would the spirit of the Venusian poet be perplexed if 
permitted to revisit again “the glimpses of the moon?’’ 
Ah ! little did the courtly bard dream of such a con¬ 
juncture, as he paced his accustomed walk in the 
“ Via Sacra,” conning an ode to his great patron, 
Augustus, when he meditated a campaign—“ in ultimos 
orbis Britannoslittle could he deem that the ruins 
of the gorgeous palace of his imperial master would 
one day form the villa, and be called by the name 
of one of those despised and barbarous Britons—but 
let not the lover of the picturesque be alarmed-—there 
is still enough of ruin and desolation on the Palatine 
to satisfy the most misanthropic cynic that ever brood¬ 
ed over the ravages of time, or the vanity of human 
greatness; here he may wander for hours, through vast 
and ruined halls, broken arches, and over mosaic 
floors, amidst ruins so vast and shapeless, that they 
seem to defy all learning and architectural skill to con¬ 
ceive their design; and yet, we know that this mount 
was the first seat of the Roman empire, that succes¬ 
sively enfolding the seven hills, gradually expanded, 
until it stretched from Parthia and Armenia to the 
British isles—from the cold bleak hills of Caledonia 
to the burning deserts of Lybia : we know that these 
ruins formed the palace of Augustus and his succes¬ 
sors, in the embellishment of which they exhausted 
all their imperial power and magnificence. It was 


ROME. 


i 03 


here Augustus erected that beautiful temple of Apollo, 
one of the most splendid monuments of, his reign, in 
that part of his house on the Palatine, as Suetonius 
informs us, which had been struck by lightning, and 
where, in consequence, the auspices declared this god 
demanded a dwelling. To this temple he added splendid 
porticoes, and a Greek and Latin library, the foundation 
of the celebrated Palatine library, while, as if to render 
the Palatine and his new temple still more sacred, he here 
deposited, under the statue of Apollo, the Sybilline books, 
and often here assembled the senate—but what now avail 
those haughty memories ? Wild briars spring from the 
tesselated pavements — the night winds sigh, and the 
melancholy cypress waves above the ruins of the Caesars’ 
palace, whilst the owl is heard to answer its fellows from 
the deserted fanes of the Roman forum! The world has 
no ruins like these: here, indeed, there are “ sermons in 
stones”—and oh! what a voice do they not utter to the 
stranger, as he surveys, from the summit of this mount, 
the waste of ruins which surround him on all sides— 
structures so vast and massive, that they appear like 
wrecks of another world. From the ruined palace of 
Augustus, he beholds the remains of the golden house 
of Nero, and away to the right, the vast walls of the baths 
of Caracalla, all alike involved in the same desolation. Im¬ 
perial tyranny could not content itself with the entire Pa¬ 
latine which once enclosed the whole of Rome, but united 
at last within their regal palace three out of the seven hills 
of Rome ! and now these ruins only stand in mockery of 
their power—the monuments of their luxury and guilt. 
Man, indeed, builds in vain—“ his foundations are in 
the dust, which crumble before the moth.” But let us 
descend, and pass through the Farnesian Gardens, into 
the Forum Roman urn itself. The Forum?—alas! the 





104 


KOME. 


Campo Vaccino!—for here, indeed, amidst the ruins of 
majestic temples, and triumphal arches, in the very 
centre of Homan greatness, the savage peasant of the 
desolate Campagna stables his oxen, whose lowing is 
heard where Hortensius and Caesar pleaded, and the 
voice of Tully invoked divine vengeance on the head 
of the guilty Catiline. Here was the Ruminal fig-tree 
—here the Comitium-—behold the columns which popular 
tradition assigns as the Temple of Jupiter Stator; and 
yonder is the “ clivis Capitolinus,” the hill where Brutus 
raised aloft his dagger, reeking with the blood of the ty¬ 
rant, “ and called on Tully’s name !” “ Ancora sei Roma,” 

exclaim the modern Romans—but, ah! how changed, 
how fallen and degraded ! Tired and sick of the per¬ 
petual contradictions between the glorious past and the 
melancholy present, we seek solace in the imagination, 
and willingly leave the historical for the fabulous ages 
of old Rome. With what pure and delightful associa¬ 
tions do we turn to the grotto and fountain of Egeria ’ 
Hid in a pleasant vale, amidst grassy fields, a circular 
grove of dark ilex trees still retains for the place some-' 
thing of its sacred and oracular character; and we feel 
as if inspired with the “ genius loci,” when we drink of 
the clear stream which issues from the fountain, still 
ornamented w r ith a headless figure of the venerable Numa. 
Here may we stretch our wearied limbs on the grassy 
slopes, and allow the mind to recreate in the realms of 
poetry, undisturbed by the recollection of human passions 
or human crimes. It is outside of the walls of Rome 
that the mind must seek for this refreshment, as the 
decayed city itself still does for the living streams that 
gush forth in her fountains. Nature remains the same, 
beautiful and unexhausted. Still flows the aqua virgo 
from its source, as pure and abundant as when the 


ROME. 


105 


maiden first discovered it to the soldiers of Agrippa ; 
and still may the lover of nature delight himself in 
the scenes that Tully loved and Horace sang, amidst 
the hills of Tusculum, or the Sabine valleys— 

“ Qua pinus ingens albaque populus, 

Umbram hospitalem consociare amant 
Ramis, et obliquo laborat 

Lympha fugax trepidare rivo.” 

The gardens of Tivoli are still bathed “ mobilibus rivis,“ 
while the Arno rushes with the same headlong fall from 
beneath the ruins of the villa of Maecenas, as when it 
soothed, with the murmur of its falling waters, the worn- 
out minister of Augustus. The Campagna and neigh¬ 
bourhood of Rome is scarcely less memorable than the 
“ Eternal City.” Even in monuments, what can be more 
imposing than those stupendous aqueducts, stretching 
out for miles over the desolate Campagna — the tombs 
on the Appian way—or the villa of Hadrian, which give 
us as striking an idea of the power and magnificence of 
ancient Rome as the Pantheon itself. I had now seen 
most of the objects and places of interest in Rome, and 
began to feel impatient to return to Florence, where I 
had left “ moglie e bambineso, after paying what I 
deemed a farewell visit to the Colosseum, where I found 
a Franciscan monk preaching on penance, I took my way 
to the Piazza Colonna, threw myself into the mal posta, 
and left Rome late on a Saturday evening. 


f2 








106 


RETURN TO FLORENCE. 


CHAPTER IX. 


Disagreeable Night in the Roman Mai di Posta, and equally disagreeable Day at 
Aquapendente—Agreeable change of place to the Tuscan Mai Posta, and visible 
Improvement of everything on entering Tuscany—Radicofani—Siena—Its im¬ 
posing situation—Reflections on the Conquest of Siena by the Grand Duke Cosmo 
—Arrival in Florence. 


The evening was succeeded by a terrible niglit. The 
weather, which had been threatening for some days, had 
just broken up—the rain descended in torrents—the 
thunder pealed—the lightning flashed—but still on we 
went, our escort of carabineers by no means adding 
to my agreeable reflections. The roads were infamous, 
while the papal machine seemed wholly devoid of 
springs; more than once the courier and I found ourselves 
thrown upon each other. The night was pitchy dark, 
only relieved by the flickering lamp of the carriage, or 
the lights of the ostlers, as we changed horses at the 
miserable post-houses along the road. How I got through 
the night, I hardly know, but daylight found us on the 
shores of the lake»of Bolsena—shores as beautiful as 
pestilential. Ah! why does the demon of malaria haunt 
the fairest scenes of Italy! What would not the villas 
of Rome be, but for him! but in vain are marble halls 
and classic shades, for there he “ walketh and killeth 
in the noonday.” Early in the morning we arrived at 
Aquapendente, but impatient to rejoin my family, my 
horror may be easily conceived, when the courier informed 
me that the Tuscan mat poste would not leave Aqua- 


AQUAPENDENTE. 


107 


pendente until the following morning. In this dull 
and dirty episcopal town, as Murray truly describes it, 
I was doomed to spend four-and-twenty mortal hours. 
I was not “ a medical traveller,” and therefore could 
not feel the interest in Aquapendente, which the same 
authority tells us, the disciples of Esculapius may, from 
their recollections of Fabricius of Aquapendante. But 
there was no help for it, and many will justly say that 
my annoyances were a slight punishment for having 
meditated travelling on the Sabbath. The interruption 
of my journey, however, was not caused by any regu¬ 
lation of this kind on the part of the postal autho¬ 
rities ; it was only another example of that dilatoriness 
and want of energy, which here pervades all the govern¬ 
ment departments. I consoled myself, however, with 
the reflection, that 


“ The darkest day, 

Live till to-morrow, ’twill have passed away.” 

In the day itself, however, I had nothing to complain ; 
the weather was all that man could desire ; so, escaping 
from the miserable locanda , I tried to forget my vexations 
wandering amidst the picturesque scenes surrounding 
the town, and from which, indeed, Aquapendente de¬ 
rives its romantic name. I returned from my walk 
in better humour, and amused myself with observing 
the groups of peasants which crowded the narrow streets 
in their holiday costume. They were truly Italian. I 
doubt, indeed, if we observe, anywhere north of the Roman 
States, the same distinctive nationality—the men, tall, 
brigand-looking fellows, in their close jackets and 
leather buskins, with slouched hats concealing their 
dark features—the women, almost as dark and sun- 




r 





108 


AQUA PENDENTE. 


burnt, arrayed in their bright dresses and fazzolletti. 
But, alas, for beauty!—whatever the traveller would have 
us believe, we rarely meet with it in this class in Italy. 
Italian beauty is, indeed, as rare as it is marvellous— 
we may mingle in crowds and not meet it—while 
Italian ugliness is equally hideous and common. I 
scarcely ever saw in Italy a good-looking old woman; 
but then, as if to redeem the whole sex, we do meet, 
now and then, with some daughter of Eve that, once 
seen, can never be forgotten, who seems to combine 
in her single person all the loveliness of her sex, and 
almost tempts us to believe that the Cestus of Venus 
is an heir-loom in the country of u.'Eneas. My host of 
the Aquila D'Oro, attended by a quaint-looking fellow 
whom he introduced to me as the cook, came to take my 
orders for my dinner. The larder, alas! afforded 
little opportunity for him to display his artistic skill, 
whatever it may have been. A wretched soup, followed 
by a tough fowl in rice, with a rotie of little birds 
and an omelette, formed my repast. My host, however, 
who acted also as waiter, looked on with much satis-' 
faction; he had promised that my dinner should be “del 
Megliore,” and was evidently pleased that his “chef” 
had so ably carried out his hospitable intentions ; he 
was, fortunately, civil, and I took advantage of his 
agreeable mood to ask him if he could make out 
a bottle of really good wine, for the compound placed 
before me, in a huge caraff ’ was detestable. As I had 
done but poor justice to his luxurious viands, I pre¬ 
sume he thought it more incumbent on me to make 
up for it in my libations, for he produced a bottle of 
old Chianti that would have done honor to the first 
hotel in Florence. 

“Uno vino da vescovo”—“a wine fit for a bishop,” as 


AQUAPENDENTE. 


109 


mine host humorously assured me. I began to think my¬ 
self not so badly off after all, and that here, “ at ease in 
mine inn,” albeit in Aquapendente, I might pass the 
evening philosophising on what I had seen at Rome; 
but mine host seemed to think that his good wine 
would be all the better for his own good company, 
till, at last, I begged of him to partake of it with me; 
and asking him a few general questions, was soon im¬ 
mersed in all the memorabilia of Aquapendente, but 
more particularly in the historical events connected 
with the “ Locanda,” the most remarkable being the re¬ 
ception of divers illustrious persons, and the high terms of 
satisfaction in which they had expressed themselves of my 
host and his entertainment. And so I passed the evening; 
and as the bed was cleaner and better than the appearance 
of my bed-room promised, I got comfortably through the 
night. But for all this, I think it a matter of conscience 
to warn my reader, even though he be a medical man, 
against spending either day or night in Aquapendente. 
With painful forebodings of a renewal of my sufferings 
from ruts and jolts, I took my place in the Tuscan 
mol posta , but it was of an entirely different construc¬ 
tion from the Roman carriage, and when we crossed 
the Paglia and entered Tuscany, the courier assured 
me that I should go u come in una gondola,” and com¬ 
pared with the vile carriage I had left, its motion did 
indeed appear nearly as easy and delightful—but it was 
not merely in the carriage that I observed an imme¬ 
diate change for the better: we had to cross through 
the bed of the Paglia, for although this is the great 
northern road from Rome, the Papal government 
think a bridge unnecessary; but the moment we gained 
the opposite bank, and were in the Tuscan territories, 
we glided along a road that would have done credit 


i 





110 


JOURNEY TO FLORENCE. 


to any county in England—this was the more cre¬ 
ditable to the Tuscan government, as, owing to the 
nature of the soil, to keep this road in such excellent 
repair must be as expensive as laborious. I scarcely 
can conceive any two adjoining countries that can 
present a more striking contrast than Tuscany and 
the Roman states here, on the “ Strada di Siena,” in 
physical features as well as in the condition and habits 
of their respective populations; we leave, on the Roman 
side of the Paglia, a rich country of great natural fer¬ 
tility and beauty, but inhabited by a lawless and 
poverty-stricken people—bad roads and wretched towns. 
We behold, on the Tuscan side, a country as dreary 
and unpromising as the other is rich and beautiful, 
whose loose shifting soil seems to forbid all husban¬ 
dry ; and yet, we there find excellent roads, and a de¬ 
cent and contented-looking people, and in those sterile- 
looking hills, frequent indications of successful industry— 
and still, they are the same people, with the same 
language and religion! Can a more remarkable in¬ 
stance be given of the effects of good and bad go¬ 
vernment?—so strong, that to account for it, we must 
remember that the Roman government, which has 
produced such a state of things, is, par excellence , the 
worst; while, fortunate in a succession of mild and 
beneficent sovereigns, who, in spite of their Austrian 
inclinations, have identified themselves with their 
people, Tuscany has long rejoiced under what has 
been often said to be the best of all forms of govern¬ 
ment—“ an enlightened and paternal despotism.” The 
character of the sovereign, however, is a precarious 
tenure for the happiness of the people ; and though 
Tuscany has good reason to congratulate herself on 
the past, it is natural she should desire some better 


RADICOFANI. 


Ill 


security for the future. We stopped at Radicofani to 
breakfast; there is not a bleaker or more dismal 
place in all Italy—the mountain is supposed to be nearly 
2,500 feet above the level of the sea; its summit— 
the crater of an extinct volcano—is crowned with the 
ruins of the strong fortress which was accidentally 
destroyed, by the explosion of the powder magazine, 
during the last century; it anciently was the strong¬ 
hold of the celebrated robber knight, Ghino di Tacco, 
whose summary treatment of the abbot of Clugney is 
related by Boccacio in his “ Decameronfurther 
down, at the foot of this acropolis, the romantic vil¬ 
lage is ensconced, and still lower, the road to Siena, 
with the post-house. 

After breakfast, as the courier obligingly promised 
to await my return, I set out, and ascended to the 
top of the mountain; the entire summit is enclosed 
by the ruined wails of the fortress, which are princi¬ 
pally composed of the red porus teefa , as light as cork, 
with which it is covered ; it commands a most exten¬ 
sive view, embracing a wide mountainous region al¬ 
most as bleak and desert as Radicofani itself. On the 
summit of this bleak mountain, in the midst of the 
citadel, I found a little chapel had been erected some 
years ago, which I was invited to visit by the poor 
priest who attended us. There is much knowledge of 
the human heart—much that is affecting and sooth¬ 
ing in this care, which the church of Rome every¬ 
where manifests, to recall to the mind of the travel¬ 
ler the hopes and consolations of his religion, amidst 
the wildest and most savage scenes of nature; I en¬ 
tered the little oratory, and was further moved, by 
finding that, in this wild spot, a stranger from a 
distant land had found a grave—the oratory enclosed 







112 


RADICOFANI. 


his tomb, which bore the following brief but strange 
inscription:— 


“ A la memoire 

De Guillhaume Lafargue de Parnac 
Au norm de ce qu’il eut de-plus cher sur cette terre 
Fanny—Eliza—Nina 
Vingt ans apres samort un ami inconnu 
Fevricr, 1829 

Unies sur la terre, elles le seront dans la ciel.” 

To me there appeared something extremely affecting 
in this memorial of the tenderest of human feelings, 
in a place so savage and uncongenial; the French 
are fond of striking effect, and, certainly, a more wild 
and singular place of sepulture than the summit of Ra- 
dicofani could hardly have been selected. Presenting 
to the poor padre, who had admitted me into the 
chapel, a few pauls, I took my way down the mountain, 
to return to the inn. I found the courier impatiently 
awaiting me ; in a few moments the horses were put 
to, and we proceeded rapidly on our journey. The ■ 
Tuscan couriers are a very superior class; they are 
well paid, and much confided in by the government; 
my fellow-traveller I found as well-informed and enter¬ 
taining as he was good-natured and obliging—full of 
keen observation and agreeable stories; one of his 
sons filled an honourable office in the household of the 
Grand Duke, in whose praises he was loud, and evi¬ 
dently sincere; indeed, the affectionate feelings with 
which Leopold is regarded by his people is common to 
all the Tuscans ; they speak of him with a warmth and 
cordiality which Englishmen can scarcely understand, 
and which only can result from that intimate acquaint¬ 
ance and frequent intercourse which here subsists be- 


RADICOFANI. 


113 


tween tlie sovereign and his people. To hear a Tuscan 
describing the kind acts and virtues of this amiable 
prince, were it not for his introducing, now and then, 
the phrase “ del nostro sovrano,” one would suppose 
him speaking of some dear and intimate friend. If 
human nature was not what religion and experience 
alike attest it to be—a mingled web of good and evil, 
but where, alas! the evil terribly preponderates—we 
might well be excused for wishing Tuscany a continua¬ 
tion of the system of government which has pro¬ 
duced such results; but it needs not that we should 
go back to study the lives of the Caesars, to feel 
that good men, in this evil world of ours, whether 
as governors or amongst the governed, are the excep¬ 
tion, not the rule ; that a people, who, to-day, rejoice 
under the rule of an Augustus, may, to-morrow, groan 
under the tyranny of a Tiberius; even if we could 
secure virtue in the prince, we would still be 
unable to guard against the g effects of tbpse evil 
influences to which despotic power is peculiarly liable. 
The history of our own times, and the existing state of 
many countries in Europe, prove to us that hardly less 
mischief may result from the delegated rule of an ami¬ 
able but weak sovereign, than from the active tyranny of 
an evil monarch; nor is the present state of civilization, 
and the more humane and enlightened sentiments of the 
times we live in, any adequate check to the violence of 
arbitrary power: the sufferings of unhappy Poland, and 
the treatment which her unhappy people have received, 
from one who styles himself a Christian emperor, can 
hardly find a parallel in the pages of ancient history. 

The situation of Siena is most imposing; it is placed, 
like Perugia, on a commanding eminence, and long 
before we enter its gates, the sight of the stranger, as 





114 


SIENA. 


he approaches it, is fixed on its walls and towers, above 
which, like Florence and the other republican cities of 
Italy, the great tower of the Palazzo Publico rises pre¬ 
eminent. The situation, as well as the splendour of the 
great cities of Italy, still answer the Latin poet’s de¬ 
scription— 


“ Adde tot egregias urbes, operumque laborem ; 

Tot congesta manu prasruptis oppida saxis, 

Fluminaque antiquos subter labeutia muros.” 

Early in the afternoon we entered the gates of Siena, 
and as the courier informed us we should stop here 
several hours, I found time, on this occasion, to 
pay a passing visit to its most memorable localities ; 
everything in Siena recalls its prominent history amongst 
the Italian republics of the middle ages—the ancient 
and frequently-victorious rival of Florence—its massive 
walls and lofty gates %ttest its ancient renown, when 
the principal seat and stronghold of the Ghibeline power 
in central Italy. Its palaces are in the same for¬ 
tified style as those of Florence, characteristic of the 
warlike times in which they were erected, when we are 
told Siena could send forth from her gates a hun¬ 
dred thousand men in arms. Siena was long the 
greatest rival of Florence—between the two cities there 
reigned a constant jealousy, which, aggravated by the 
wars for supremacy, between the emperors and pon¬ 
tiffs, in which Florence and Siena ranged themselves 
on opposite sides, had settled at last into the deepest 
national hatred ; in these wars Siena was often victo¬ 
rious, and at one time, after the terrible defeat of the 
Florentines and Guelphs, at Monte Aperto, she had so 
broken the power of her haughty foe, that, as Dante 


SIENA. 


115 


tells us, it was proposed, in the camp of the Sienese, 
to raze Florence to the ground— 

“ Fa per ciascun di torre via Fiorenza.” 

But, as in ancient times the Grecian general refused to 
put out one of the eyes of Greece, so, with a similar 
magnanimity, Farinata Degli Uberti, the victorious 
general of the Ghibelines, refused to destroy the Athens 
of Italy. Florence badly repaid this generosity ; the 
reverses she had suffered only increased her animosity 
and desire for vengeance, and the decline of the Ghibeline 
power, and the dissensions and tyranny of the Signoria 
of Siena, afforded her ample opportunities for humiliating 
and distressing her ancient rival. By sedulously foment¬ 
ing these dissensions, the Florentines succeeded in de¬ 
stroying the freedom and independence of Siena. Their 
own liberties had already sunk under the subtle policy 
of the aspiring house of Medici. Corrupted -by their 
wealth and magnificence, and blinded by national ani¬ 
mosity, they perceived not that in enslaving their neigh¬ 
bours they were riveting their own chains, and destroying 
every hope of regaining their lost freedom. Still Siena 
struggled on, and it was only at last by famine and 
the most cruel treachery, that Cosmo di Medici made 
himself master of Siena. The conqueror had little reason 
to be proud of his triumph; but aggrandisement, per 
fas et nefas , seems to have been the policy of the Italian 
princes ; and Cosmo and the Florentine historians con¬ 
sidered the conquest of Siena the most glorious, as 
it was the greatest, event of his reign. It formed the 
subject of a large painting in the Palazzo Vecchio, and is 
also represented on the bas-reliefs of the magnificent 
bronze statue of Cosmo, in the Palazzo del Gran Duca, 









116 


SIENA. 


where the chained captives that follow the triumphal car 
of the conqueror, sufficiently indicate the feelings of 
the Florentines. These feelings are not yet altogether 
removed, although, happily, they are now only exercised 
in a wordy warfare of sarcasms and nicknames, which 
would be harmless did they not serve to keep alive those 
ancient animosities and divisions, the greatest obstacles to 
the cause of freedom in Italy. The Medicean princes, 
after its union with the Dukedom of Florence, made 
many attempts to restore Siena to its former wealth 
and magnificence, but all in vain. These petty tyrants 
found out, like the Roman emperors, how much easier 
it was to destroy than to rebuild, and that the wealth and 
greatness that has grown up under liberty, in the enter¬ 
prise and energy of freemen, can only exist with free 
institutions. Siena now scarcely numbers eighteen 
thousand citizens, and eight only of her magnificent 
gates remain, to recall her ancient splendour. Many of 
the streets are covered with grass, and all have a 
vacant and deserted appearance ; still they are (for. 
Italy) remarkably clean and well paved ; and it is only 
justice to the Tuscan Government to say that, the 
people of Siena, in common with those of the other cities 
of Tuscany, appear happy and contented. The Duomo 
of Siena, though one of the most remarkable churches in 
Italy, does not appear to me likely to make us fall in love 
with what is called the Italian Gothic, a style which 
endeavours to unite the most opposite and incongru¬ 
ous orders of architecture. The result is, as might 
naturally be expected, more curious than imposing, and 
this effect is further increased by the regular bands 
of variegated marbles, which, like the Duomos of Pisa 
and Florence, also compose this extraordinary edifice. 
I doubt if great richness of materials harmonizes at all 


SIENA. 


117 


with an edifice that at all partakes of the Gothic style. 
But, whatever may be said of the general appearance 
and architectural character of the cathedral of Siena, 
it is rich' in all that the antiquarian and lover of the 
arts can admire. Its exterior facade is covered with 
the arms of the different cities of Italy, which once 
were proud of the alliance of Siena. During the wars 
of the middle ages, the great Duomo of each Italian 
republic was, like our own Westminster Abbey, the 
sanctuary of all that was most illustrious in the state, 
and the Duomo of Siena is full of monuments and 
memorials of its ancient republic, as well as of beautiful 
sculptures, and the works of art which conferred honor 
on the genius of its citizens. The baptistry under 
the church will also gratify the traveller’s curiosity, 
and many of the other churches of Siena deserve his 
attention; but, the truth is, the churches of Italy are 
so numerous, and so rich, that even the most active 
traveller, after a short residence in Italy, abandons the 
idea of visiting them all, and no one but the author of 
a guide-book, would attempt anything like a detailed de¬ 
scription of them. I have been more than once in Siena, 
and with further leisure than I had on this, my first 
visit, and, yet, I shame to say that I did not enlarge 
my acquaintance, by a visit to the churches of all the 
Saints, of which Murray gives us such a formidable 
list. I confess I found more pleasure, and thought 
myself better occupied, in studying that noble old pile, 
the Palazzo Publico, and its lofty tower, so characteristic 
of the times of the republic, and for ever associated 
with its glorious annals ; its great halls and galleries 
are adorned with paintings, illustrating remarkable 
events in the history of Siena ; and although the 
greatness of their beloved republic has long passed away, 




118 


SIENA—ARRIVE AGAIN AT FLORENCE. 


its citizens, as they walk beneath those splendidly painted 
roofs, may well find, in the glorious achievements of 
their ancestors, a melancholy consolation in their present 
misfortunes. 

Late in the evening we left Siena, and with the dawn 
I was happy to find myself once more in pleasant 
Florence ; and happily domiciled again in our comfortable 
quarters in the Via Larga. 



FLORENCE. 


119 


CHAPTER X. 


Easter Ceremonies in Florence—Deserved popularity of the Grand Duke Leopold— 
Society in Florence—Character of the Italians vindicated—French Occupation of 
Florence—Bonaparte, his Italian policy—State and Prospects of the Liberal Cause 
in Italy—Religious Condition of the People—Visit to Vallambrosa—Summer 
Arrangement. 

When I left Rome, all the world was running into it 
to witness the ceremonies of the holy week; but, as 
such exhibitions have, in general, little to interest me, 
and did not at all enter into my plan in visiting the 
“ Eternal City,” I was not induced to prolong my sojourn 
by any desire of seeing them. In the following year, a 
longer residence in the “ Eternal City” afforded me this 
opportunity, and, in the meantime, at Florence, had I 
been the most enthusiastic admirer of religious spectacles, 
I would have been amply satisfied. The holy week is 
celebrated at Florence with great pomp, and if the cere¬ 
monies are not so gorgeous and imposing as those of 
Rome, the Florentines make up for any deficiency of 
splendour, by their increased devotion; in fact, the 
Tuscans appear the most devout people in Italy ; and 
the whole year in Florence is marked by a succession 
of fetes and “ funzione,” many of them exceedingly 
curious and interesting, in which every class, from the 
Grand Duke downward take their proper part. The 
Roman ceremonies of the holy week were closely 
imitated in Florence. On Holy Thursday, the Grand 






120 


FLORENCE. 


Duke and Duchess, in the same manner as his Holiness, 
washed the feet, respectively, of twelve old men and 
women, in the Palazzo Pitti, and afterwards served 
them at table, or rather went through the form of doing 
so, for in a spirit of much more thoughtful kindness 
to these poor old people, after the viands (which of 
course consisted only of fasting fare) were placed on 
the table before them, they were removed in large 
baskets, and the portion of each left at their respective 
dwellings. They severally received, at the hands of the 
Grand Duke and Grand Duchess, a medal, and a purse 
containing a Tuscan crown. These old people hence¬ 
forth become pensioners on the bounty of the Grand 
Duke ; they are chosen for their advanced age and good 
character, and to have been thus selected is justly con¬ 
sidered, by the Tuscans, a high honor. These annual 
pensionaries return into their own neighbourhood, to 
spread around, with all the garrulity of old age, the 
goodness and charity of their sovereign. 

Making full allowance for the objections that may be 
urged against such ostentatious humility, I think it is 
impossible not to be moved by such a ceremony—to 
see a sovereign prince, a member of the proud house of 
Austria, unbuckle his sword, and, laying down his 
dignity, wash the feet of the humblest of his subjects, 
while his royal Duchess, herself a daughter of the house 
of Bourbon, stoops and does the same by the lowest 
of her sex, is an acknowledgement, at once striking 
and affecting, of the principles of our common religion ; 
and when these acts of voluntary abasement are immedi¬ 
ately followed by works of practical benevolence and 
charity, I think it is hard to deny that this ceremony 
possesses much that is beautiful and edifying. 

I repeat, I am not insensible to the objections that 




FLORENCE. 


121 




may be urged against this ceremony; but I almost doubt 
if they are not borne down by the good effects which 
this solemn and periodical example of humility in the 
head of the State, as well as acknowledgment of the 
obligations of Christian power, are calculated to produce 
in the different classes of society. But, I will be asked, 
do we find these good effects in Italy ?—are the mild and 
holy doctrines of our pure religion there exemplified in 
the lives and habits of the people ? I answer that, 
while lamenting the serious doctrinal errors, and the 
many superstitious practices which have been their con¬ 
sequence, I believe as much pious benevolence and active 
charity will be found in Italy as in any country in Europe, 
and nowhere do the different orders of society manifest 
a milder or more forbearing demeanour towards each 
other. Tuscany, in particular, is distinguished for its 
splendid hospitals and houses of charity, as well as for 
the number and variety of benevolent institutions, 
designed to minister to every form of human suffering. 
These societies are composed of lay brothers, amongst 
whose numbers are members of the most distinguished 
families. One of the most ancient and remarkable 
institutions of this kind, is that of the Misericordia of 
Florence, amongst whose brotherhood was enrolled Fer¬ 
dinand, father of the present Grand Duke, who is said 
to have frequently assisted in its offices of mercy. Never 
was power administered with greater mildness, or exalted 
station adorned with more meekness, than by the present 
Grand Duke Leopold. 

The shortest residence in Florence will supply the 
stranger with abundant evidence of the good feeling 
existing between Leopold and his subjects—the longest 
will only furnish him with additional proofs how well 
deserved it is on both sides. The Tuscans deserve good 


G 





122 


FLORENCE. 


government, and they have it. Their warmest friend 
could only wish them a continuance of their present 
prosperity; and it is only because I fully appreciate the 
blessings they at present enjoy, that I wish to see them 
secured by free institutions, or at least made independent 
of the character of the sovereign. But while Tuscany 
possesses such a prince as Leopold, she may well accouut 
herself happy : simple and unaffected, he mixes with his 
subjects as a father or a friend; and often may he be 
seen walking quietly about his capital, inspecting its 
improvements, acquainting himself with his people, and 
diffusing, by his presence and acts of unostentatious 
charity, happiness and contentment amongst them. His 
person is inviolate in the affections of his subjects. His 
guardia nobile is for state pageantry, and not for his 
protection ; nor does he seem to care if the little army 
which, for the routine duty of the garrisons of Tuscany, 
it is necessary to keep up, should have more the air of 
militia-men than regular soldiery. Leopold finds himself 
better occupied in developing the resources of his state, 
authorising public works, travelling about the grand 
duchy, and acquainting himself with the interests and 
wants of his people. He has been singularly fortunate 
in finding zealous and talented ministers; and although 
a man himself, it is said, not endowed with any great 
natural abilities, he seems to possess considerable dis¬ 
cernment in calling to his aid the talents and energies of 
others ; so that he is a remarkable instance of how much 
good may be effected by men of even moderate abilities, 
when placed in elevated situations, if imbued with an 
earnest and active desire to do good. 

The drainage of the Maremma, the port of Leghorn, 
the mines of Elba, the numerous excellent roads opened 
everywhere throughout Tuscany, are the best eulogiums 


FLOKENCE. 


123 


on his useful reign; while, in himself and his royal 
family, the Florentines have an example of all that is 
most virtuous and commendable in domestic life. 

The hospitalities of the Pitti Palace are conducted on 
the most liberal and princely scale, and our countrymen, 
who form a very numerous community in Florence, have 
no reason to complain of any lack of attention ; indeed, 
the Florentines say that the champagne-suppers are 
intended to gratify the hilarious habits of our country¬ 
men—habits so very different from their own, and which, 
perhaps, might with advantage be laid aside in the more 
excitable climate of Italy. Presentation by his ambassa¬ 
dor is the only passport required to admit the stranger 
in the fullest manner to the grand ducal festivities; and no 
one who is desirous that the respectability of the Fnglish 
name should be supported, would desire to see this 
condition made an empty form ; and yet it was impossible 
to close our ears to all the stories and observations current 
in the English circles in Florence. 

But I merely glance at these things en passant. Our 
motives for visiting Italy, and the circumstances of our 
family, fortunately preserved us from becoming involved 
in the jealousies and heart-burnings, the sets and parties, 
which, whether in our own bilious land of gloom and fog, 
or under the bright sky of Italy, seem incident to all 
English society. The why and the wherefore would in¬ 
volve us in a difficult and curious inquiry. But without 
going to remote causes, it is certain that our country- 
people abroad do by themselves and (though more rarely) 
by foreigners, things marvellously strange, and quite 
sufficient to disturb the harmony of any little community. 
For example, I have heard, during our residence in Italy, 
of an English lady of rank, who, on being asked to 
a ball, only accepted the invitation on the condition that 






124 


FLORENCE. 


her host was not to present any of his guests to her 
ladyship !—and of another in Florence, who, giving a ball, 
unfortunately included amongst her invitations a foreign 
lady, whom she afterwards thought proper to consider 
objectionable. Now, in similar circumstances, a French or 
Italian woman would have seen that there was no remedy 
for this contretemps; but the more energetic Englishwoman 
boldly cut the Gordian knot, by sending for her broad 
card, stating that it had been sent by mistake. Unfor¬ 
tunately, her ladyship did not keep her counsel, for the 
story got wind, and the indignant Italian made such a 
party—her country-people, of course, taking part with 
her—as furnished the lovers of scandal in Florence (an 
exceedingly numerous body), for a considerable time, 
with much pleasant discussion. Indeed, considering the 
volcanic character of the fair Italian, the most terrible 
results might have arisen, had not the English lady made 
the “ amende honorable,” by returning her card, and ex¬ 
pressing a hope that she would receive the pleasure of the 
fair Italian’s company. Sixty years ago, the author of 
“ Vathek” tells us, that, disgusted with the eternal scandal, 
or insipid chit-chat of the Lady Marys and Lady Bettys 
of Florence, he used to fly for refuge to the thickets of 
Boboli, from whence surveying the Etrurian Athens, he 
gave vent to his bile, exclaiming—“ Lord, what a crew 
harbour within these walls! ” It is greatly to be feared 
that he would not be more merciful to Pinglish society in 
Florence at the present day, although the Lady Bettys 
and Lady Marys have been strongly reinforced by large 
migrations of Tompkinses, Browns, &c., &e., who 

have not, however, infused more amiability or charity 
into the community. This is much to be regretted, as 
there is no more agreeable residence in Italy than Flo¬ 
rence—none where the stranger, and particularly an 


125 


FLORENCE. 

Englishman, will feel himself so much at home, under 
the protection of good laws, and surrounded by a people 
remarkable for their politeness and courtesy to strangers. 

Attracted by these advantages, and charmed by the 
beauty of the country, in spite of the drawback to 
which I have alluded, many highly respectable English 
families have been induced to domicile themselves in 
Florence. Indeed, many of our countrymen have formed 
the most intimate ties with the Florentines, and have 
permanently settled in Tuscany. We may, therefore, 
hope, that a better and more elevated tone will be 
diffused into its English society ; and that the reproach 
it has too long borne will speedily be removed. 
Florence ought, of all places, to be the favoured abode 
of literary men ; its streets, its gardens, its churches, 
are all alike consecrated by their associations with 
men of genius; while its splendid libraries, and the 
liberal manner in which they are thrown open to all, 
afford no common opportunities to men of studious 
habits. The Florentines, too, like their ancestors, are 
distinguished for the regard and attention which they 
pay to men of learning; and Florence still can boast 
of many distinguished men of genius; but, with a 
few bright exceptions, very different tastes and occupa¬ 
tions have characterised the English denizens in Florence: 

“ 0 ego quartus eram gelidi cum stratus ad Arm 
Murmura populeumque nemus qua mollior herba 
Carpere nunc violas, nunc summas carperc myrtos,” 

wrote the great English poet, as he recalled the 
scenes that delighted him during his residence in 
Florence; but alas ! it is with very different feelings 
that his countrymen now seek the beautiful walks of 
the Casino; no longer do we meet a Gray, musing 







126 


FLORENCE. 


on the heights of Fiesolse, and few care to follow the 
elegant author of Italy, in his excursions, to trace the 
beautiful scenes of the “Decameron.” I am not ar¬ 
guing against the fullest enjoyment of the pleasures 
of society—I am only expressing my regret that so 
large a community of a nation, distinguished for men¬ 
tal superiority, should be so devoted to ostentatious 
displays, and an empty round of rival festivities. How 
much more rational—how much more intellectual—the 
conversazione of the Italians; it is in such simple and 
elegant assemblies that we really, enjoy society, and 
appreciate what it is. The Italians are by no means 
averse to a ball, but it is with them a grand fete, 
reserved for the carnival, or some great occasion; but 
their receptions and conversaziones are regular and fre¬ 
quent, while their friendly visits are made in the evening, 
when social intercourse can be maintained more freely, 
and the friendly visitor need not fear being turned away 
with that equivocal formula, “ not at home.” 

The English, however, it is to be feared, are not a 
really social people; they are averse to all these habits 
indeed, no nation is so w r edded to their own pecu¬ 
liar customs, or so slow to adopt those of the people 
amongst whom they may happen to dwell. In Flo¬ 
rence, they are as fond of their dinner parties as at 
home, and a ball is considered nothing unless it is 
followed by a champagne-supper ; this is neither con¬ 
genial to the tastes, nor, perhaps, compatible with the 
fortunes of the Florentines ; it is not, therefore, sur¬ 
prising that a want of hospitality on their part is a 
common complaint amongst the English residents, who 
allege that, whilst the Florentines are very happy to 
come to their houses, it is very rarely that they, in 
return, open their palaces, and still more rarely, that 


FLORENCE. 


127 


their entertainment goes beyond an ice, or a glass of 
lemonade. 

Whenever it has become our good fortune to be¬ 
come intimate with Italians, we have invariably found 
them, when once they perceive that we justly appre¬ 
ciate them, kind and attentive in the ’ extreme; at the 
same time, considering the annual migrations of our coun¬ 
trymen, and the constant change of English society, 
it would be impossible for the Florentine nobility to 
extend, to the crowds of strangers, which, like birds 
of passage, annually arrive and depart from Florence, 
any very general hospitality. 

Altogether, the Florentines are a good specimen of 
the Italians, against whom much vulgar prejudice, it is to 
be feared, still prevails in the minds of Englishmen; for 
it is unhappily too true, that, with the very name of 
Italy, with much that is beautiful, we are also accus¬ 
tomed to associate much that is repugnant and degraded; 
lazzaroni, beggars, brigands, &c., fill our thoughts as much 
as bright skies and marble palaces ; wdiile the name of 
an Italian is connected, in some minds, only with 
singers and buffoons, or, at the best, with the wild and 
unnatural creations of our novelists and romance-writers— 

“ Tho’ grave, yet trifling; zealous, yet untrue; 

And even in penance, planning sins anew,” 

is an English poet’s summary of the countrymen of 
Dante and Tasso. They are, indeed, grave; a calm 
serenity of manner, in striking contrast with the ges¬ 
ticulation of their neighbours, is one of the greatest 
charms in their deportment; but I deny they are un¬ 
true. We are struck, indeed, with nothing so much as 
the candour and naivete with which they express them- 







128 FLORENCE. 

selves; and their perfectly natural and easy demeanour, 
whether in general society, or their domestic circle; gift¬ 
ed with deeper sensibility than the French, they ex¬ 
press their vivid impressions, in their beautiful language, 
with an earnest calmness, that gives a peculiar force 
and charm to all they utter. I am not surprised, in¬ 
deed, that so many of our countrymen have formed the 
dearest and most intimate ties with the fair Florentines, 
equally captivating, by the beauty of their persons, their 
graceful carriage, and unaffected manners; and I have 
rarely heard of an instance where one of our country¬ 
men has had reason to repent of such an alliance, where 
choice had been judiciously made. 

It has been much the fashion to make sweeping 
assertions and accusations as to the corruption of the 
domestic life of the Italians ; whenever the subject is 
mentioned, we are regaled with stories of cavalieri 
serventi, cicesbei, &c., &c., as if such personages were 
the necessary appendages of every Italian household. 
Now, that persons standing in a relationship which we 
would, perhaps, consider equivocal, are frequently found- 
in Italian families, I will not take upon me to deny; 
but I am satisfied that, in the great majority of in¬ 
stances, there is nothing really criminal, in the com¬ 
mon acceptation of the word, in the connexion. The 
women are as vain and fond of admiration as else¬ 
where, while the men are, unfortunately, denied the 
employments and occupations which properly engage 
their attention in free countries ; this leads to senti¬ 
mental liasons, in which the men seek, in dangling 
attentions, to fill up the tedium of their lives, and the 
former forget, in the devotion of their cavaliers, the 
neglect or indifference of their husbands. Marriage, 
unfortunately, in Italy and France, is the subject of 


129 


FLORENCE. 

interest and not of affection, and the parties most 
concerned have, generally, the least to do in bringing 
about the arrangement. This, no doubt, avoids all 
the discreditable husband-hunting which disgraces 
English society, and so frequently places our fair 
countrywomen in the most humiliating positions; at the 
same time, it cannot be denied that the Italian prac¬ 
tice is pregnant with still greater evils, and amongst 
the greatest, that it leads to the dangerous system 
we are considering. Still, we must remember that the 
Italian woman is, by her own, prepared for her hus¬ 
band’s indifference; and, therefore, is generally spared 
the disappointment, and the bitter sense of unrequit¬ 
ed love, which, alas ! is so often the violent impulse that 
throws the unhappy Englishman into the paths of guilt. 

Florence was, for many years, occupied by the French, 
and as the traces of this occupation are still strongly 
visible in the habits and usages of its society, perhaps it 
would be fairer to attribute any looseness of morals 
that may exist there to this cause, than as properly 
belonging to the manners of the Italians themselves. 

The gay court of Napoleon’s sister wore a very dif¬ 
ferent aspect from that of the Grand Duke Leopold. 
Surrounded by her French coterie, and completely go¬ 
verning her weak and vascillating husband, this clever and 
intriguing woman was more anxious to secure her be¬ 
loved dominion, by courting all classes of her subjects, than 
of exercising any jealous censorship over their morals. 
Like the last of the Medici, Giovani Gastine, as long 
as she possessed the Palazzo Pitti and Paggio Imperiale, 
for her pleasures, she looked to little beyond—and yet, 
the Princess Elize was, I believe, generally popular 
with the Tuscans, and I believe deservedly so ; but 
her base ingratitude to her imperial brother, and 

g 2 










130 


FLORENCE. 


intrigues with the allies to maintain her position, on 
his downfall, can never be forgotten. Persuaded by 
the infamous Fouche, she sided with Murat, when he 
abandoned the cause of Napoleon. “ After his fall,"’ 
said Fouche, “every thing will be fairly adjusted, and 
you will be able to keep your beautiful Palazzo Pitti’" 
—and the misguided princess was silly enough to believe 
the wily ex-minister of police. There is, indeed, no 
baser examples of ingratitude on record, than the 
Bonaparte family, with a few honorable exceptions, 
furnished in their conduct towards their illustrious 
brother. In his adversity even, the beloved Eugene 
sent an ambassador to support his interests with the 
allied sovereigns; but their ingratitude met the punish¬ 
ment it deserved—not one member of the Bonaparte 
family was allowed to retain the royal estate, to which 
the colossal power of Napoleon had alone raised them ; 
whilst Murat, whose treason was the most perfidious, 
although apparently successful, met in the end with 
a fate the most terrible and exemplary. 

Whatever may be alleged against the French in some 
respects, it cannot be denied that Italy is indebted to 
their invasion for a vast amount of political amelioration, 
as well as for many great and magnificent works. Even 
now, after thirty years of peace, except in Tuscany, we 
are referred for almost every great public work which 
calls forth our admiration, “ ai tempi Francesi.” 

Napoleon, who never forgot his Italian origin, always 
cherished great designs with regard to this country ; and, 
apart from his ambition and desire to aggrandise his 
family, laboured to elevate her to her proper place 
amongst the nations of the earth. As a necessary step 
to this, he considered it imperative to effectually humble 
the power of the Romish priesthood; and, as the best 


FLORENCE. 


131 


means of doing so, to destroy the temporal power of the 
popes. This, amongst the ignorant and fanatic, pro¬ 
voked hostility and hatred; but in spite of the bigotry 
of the lower orders of the people, the liberal and en¬ 
lightened amongst the Italians appreciated the objects 
of Napoleon, and were the strongest adherents of his 
government. The people were admitted to a much larger 
share of power than for ages had been permitted to them : 
their national feelings were flattered by the creation of 
the Italian kingdom ; and they witnessed the ceaseless 
efforts of Napoleon to extends its limits with delight, 
in the hope that under him might be founded one great 
monarchy, that should embrace the entire peninsula, and 
thus realise the constant and most cherished desire of 
Italian patriots since the days of Dante and Petrarcha. 
The treaty of Campo Forrnio, the wrongs of Venice and 
Genoa, were forgiven; and, under the energetic sway of 
Napoleon, and amidst the din of arms, the warlike spirit 
of their ancestors seemed again to awake, and the armies 
of France were filled with the enthusiastic youth of Italy; 
and well did they support the ancient valour of their 
country. The terrible and disastrous retreat from Russia 
attests alike their valour and fidelity. Napoleon fell, and 
with him expired for a time all hopes of the regeneration 
of Italy. Again the Pope sits enthroned in the Vatican ; 
and in the wake of the Austrian armies the monks and 
friars have returned to their ancient settlements in the 
sunny plains of Italy. Things, indeed, would seem to be 
fast returning to their old channels, and education is again 
in the hands of the Jesuits. Still, I am one of those 
who are sanguine in the ultimate triumph of liberal prin¬ 
ciples. The progress of liberty may be retarded, but the 
mind of man cannot be chained. 

“ Why stand ye looking up into heaven, oh, ye Gali- 




132 


FLORENCE. 


leans ?” was the text of one of the sacerdotal enemies of 
the immortal Galileo, when preaching in Florence against 
the discoveries of the great astronomer ; but, nevertheless, 
people still continued looking upward at the heavens, 
until at last they unanimously reiterated the assertion of 
the philosopher : and as of physical science, so of every 
other species of human knowledge—its acquisitions cannot 
remain concealed, or confined to any single nation. 

Political knowledge has made rapid and vast strides 
in modern times; the masses have been taught their 
strength ; new elements, long slumbering, have been 
called forth, and are incessantly at work; while the 
wonders of steam communication are hourly bringing 
the different families of mankind into closer and more 
intimate connexion. As vain are the attempts of the 
Italian priests to stultify the human mind, and to turn 
backward the irresistible progress of modern civilization, 
as the efforts of their Pope to exclude railroads from 
entering the States of the Church. 

The terrible excesses of the French republic, the 
successful ambition of Napoleon, and the bloody wars 
of his empire, arrested for a time the progress of liberty, 
while bitterly disappointing the hopes of mankind; but 
the spirit which the French Revolution awoke, the hopes 
which it excited, have not expired—they can never die. 
Nations as well as kings have learned lessons of wisdom 
for their future guidance from the French Revolution; 
throughout Europe the seeds of change have been deeply 
sown ; and though peculiar circumstances may retard or 
develop, no earthly power can prevent their coming to 
maturity. In a prophetic spirit, the greatest of our 
modern poets has said— 

“ I hear a little bird who sings, 

The people by-and-by will be the stronger 


FLORENCE. 


1 S3 


and under this simple language there is a warning more 
true and solemn than ever came forth from the oracle 
of Delphi. Happy the people, whose enlightened rulers 
appreciate the spirit of the times we live in!—who, while 
leading public opinion, by anticipating inevitable changes, 
are careful to educate and fit their people to exercise 
with safety the increasing power which their new desti¬ 
nies must give them. It is in the neglect of this para¬ 
mount duty, or, what is worse still, in giving to the 
people that treacherous education, which only seeks to 
make them the passive slaves of tyranny, that the greatest 
danger to the future happiness and peace of the world is 
to be found. 

This Machiavelian policy, so worthy of tyrants, is, 
nevertheless, actively 'at work at the present day, and 
nowhere more so than in Italy ; but, although the blind 
and unworthy scheme may be for a time successful in 
propping up the falling system of absolute power and 
religious superstition, in the end, just in proportion to 
the bigotry and ignorance which it has fostered, will be 
the dreadful reaction, and the fearful scenes that will 
attend the day of reckoning. The hopes of the Italians 
have been long doomed to disappointment. 1 While the 
nations around them are daily acquiring free institutions, 
they see themselves consigned to an antiquated and con¬ 
temptible despotism, which only exists by the over¬ 
whelming force of a foreign power. But, though awed, 
they are not subdued. Italy, we may be assured, will 
yet work out her freedom; but the hope is mingled with 
terrible apprehensions. Who can answer for the fiery 
and destructive sweep of the passions of the multitude, 
when rejoicing, in unbridled licence, over the ruins of 
despotic power ? W T ould that religious freedom pre¬ 
ceded temporal—would that the Italians might first re- 





134 


FLORENCE. 


joice in “ the glorious light of the Gospel”—then might 
we await their triumph without anxiety, confident that 
its glory would not be dimmed with tears and crimes— 
but, alas ! there is nothing in the state of Italy to warrant 
this hope. While the Italian liberals, for political consi¬ 
derations, are desirous of overturning the temporal power 
of the Pope, they are as earnest in wishing to maintain 
his spiritual authority—an authority which so strongly 
flatters their national vanity, that even when I have con¬ 
versed with avowed free-thinkers, I have invariably found 
them anxious to maintain the dignity and supremacy of 
the chair of St. Peter. Amongst the great mass of the 
people, there is no symptom of religious inquiry: they 
seem quite satisfied with the empty forms and the suc¬ 
cession of brilliant shows that their priests are careful to 
provide them ; and a great change, it is to be feared, 
must take place in the national character, before they 
will be prepared to adopt any religious reformation. 
Long and inveterate habits, their climate, their keen sense 
of enjoyment and poetical temperament, are all averse to 
a more spiritual form of worship. 

Indeed, it may be doubted that the priests of Rome 
have been the authors of many of those strange ceremo¬ 
nies which we are accustomed to call Roman Catholic, 
but which are peculiar to Italy, and have sprung from 
the character of this imaginative people. 

Among the most curious and beautiful of these ceremo¬ 
nies in Florence, is that which is called “ The Flight of 
the Dove.” It takes place in Easter, and is celebrated 
with great pomp in the Church of Santa Maria dei Fiori, 
the great Florentine cathedral, which is thronged upon 
this occasion with crowds of the peasantry from the most 
distant parts of the Yal d’Arno. This ceremony has been 
often described. It is one of the most singular and 


FLORENCE. 


135 


poetical customs that I ever witnessed ; but its name 
and principal interest is derived from the figure of a 
dove, which, by machinery, is made, at a certain period 
of the ceremony, as if in answer to the prayers of the 
archbishop and his clergy, to fly from the high altar, 
and to issue from the great doors amongst the people 
who fill the piazza, where it becomes the centre of a 
brilliant display of fireworks. This flight of the dove 
is regarded by the simple contadini with the greatest 
anxiety, as they believe it indicates the favourable or 
unfavourable result of the coming harvest. The good 
priests, however, take care that the people shall not 
be dismayed with inauspicious omens : the flight of the 
dove is direct—the flame bright and instantaneous—and, 
amidst strains of music, and the joyful shouts of the 
multitude, all is joy and festivity in Florence. This 
great and gorgeous ceremony is attended by the Grand 
Duke and Duchess in state, accompanied by their house¬ 
hold and the foreign ministers ; while the gorgeous vest¬ 
ments of the archbishop and his clergy—the rich and 
showy uniform of the guardia nobile , mingled with the 
bright and varied dresses of the peasantry—the imposing 
rites, and the vast and magnificent edifice in which they 
are celebrated, combine to make this ceremony one of 
the most splendid that can be imagined. Habituated to 
sights like these from early infancy, we are not surprised 
that the carnal mind turns a cold ear, and still colder eye, 
to the simple teaching and practices of apostolic times. 
Mo: a great change must be effected in nations as in 
individuals, before they become willing or fitted to receive 
doctrines humiliating to the pride of man, “ the lusts 
of the eye and the pride of lifeand in Italy, alas! I 
repeat, there are few symptoms of this change. I am 
far from saying that centuries have rolled over, and 







136 


FLORENCE. 


that the religious contests of France, and the reformation 
in Germany, have had no influence on the religious state 
of Italy. No doubt the clergy of the present day are 
far more charitable and enlightened ; and it is a pleasing 
indication of the mild spirit of the times we live in, when 
we find in Florence the Dominican monks—in other times 
the most active ministers of the Inquisition, and who 
scrupled not to defend the use of the sword and faggot 
to extirpate heresy—now busily employed in dispensing 
medicine alike to the believer and heretic, in their beau¬ 
tiful “ Spezzeria,” in the Via della Scala. 

As to the Italians themselves, they have always been 
distinguished by a spirit of toleration. Italy was never 
disgraced by the burnings and judicial murders which 
the religious reformers were doomed to in other coun¬ 
tries, and which, in particular, have given such an un- 
happy pre-eminence to Spain. Calvin and Clement Marot 
found refuge at the court of Ferrara in the sixteenth cen¬ 
tury, and I am disposed to believe that now, in the nine¬ 
teenth, when not urged forward by their priests, nor 
overawed and coerced by temporal power, the Italians, 
if we except the French, are the most tolerant Roman 
Catholics in Europe. 

Writing under a sense of responsibility as a Protestant, 
I could not avoid expressing my honest conviction as to 
many of the religious ceremonies and superstitions which 
unhappily prevail in Italy; but this, I trust, has not 
prevented me from doing justice to the many pious prac¬ 
tices and institutions so honorable to the teaching of 
the Roman Church, and so well worthy of our praise 
and imitation. Even while opposed, on principle, to 
the monastic orders in their present state, I never could 
find it in my heart to imitate Sterne in his uncourteous 
treatment of the poor Franciscan. Often have I res- 


FLORENCE. 


137 


ponded with pleasure to his gentle salute, and, partaking 
of the proffered “ tabacchiere” (an indulgence which all 
the monks allow themselves), have entered into pleasant, 
ay, and edifying conversation with him, inquiring as to 
the rules of his order, or listening to the virtues and 
trials of the great St. Francis. If there is imposition, 
assuredly there is much active benevolence and simple 
piety to be found under the cassock of the monk. I 
am not, indeed, quite satisfied that, under proper restric¬ 
tions, and with certain reforms, the monastic institution 
is not capable of effecting much good—an opinion in 
which I think all who have visited the hospitals of 
Florence and other Roman Catholic countries will be 
disposed to concur. There, not only are the woes of 
the wretched assuaged, and their physical wants attended 
to, but, through the means of the same humble but 
zealous ministers of the Roman Catholic Church, the 
poorest and most miserable of the community daily par¬ 
ticipate in the rites and consolations of their religion. 
However much we may deplore the errors and super¬ 
stitions which they disseminate, it is impossible to with¬ 
hold our admiration from such untiring zeal and self- 
sacrificing devotion. It may be said that our hospitals 
and prisons are supplied with proper chaplains; but, 

alas! it is not an occasional and formal visit, at regular 

intervals, that is sufficient to cheer the suffering and 
broken-hearted with Christian hope, or to still the ac¬ 
cusing conscience of the dying sinner. The want of 
lay assistants to the parochial clergy is, indeed, be¬ 
ginning to be felt and acknowledged in England ; while 

in Prussia King William is stated to have founded an 
order which, while embodying the good, should avoid 
what is evil in the monastic institutions of the church 
of Rome. One great defect, it appears to me, in our 




138 


FLORENCE. 


religious establishment, is requiring that the candidates 
for orders should necessarily be “ gentlemen,” or at least 
what implies as much, should have received a university 
education. This is as repugnant to the spirit of the 
Gospel as it is to common sense. To influence the mass 
of mankind, we must have teachers who represent, and 
can therefore feel, the sympathies of the different classes 
into which they are divided ; but this radical vice of the 
Anglican Church is marked in all its gradations: its 
clergymen are regarded as country gentlemen and tithe- 
proprietors ; while the episcopal character of the bishops 
is lost in their dignity as spiritual peers and lords of 
parliament. The result is, the increasing spread of dis¬ 
sent, and such a want of popular support and affection, 
as seem to threaten the downfall of the Establishment. 
Establishment! Ay, there is the fatal word which has 
seduced and lulled our clergy into a false and dangerous 
security. Magnificently endowed and maintained by the 
State, supported by the higher orders, they have too 
entirely and too credulously relied upon that support, 
and “believed themselves rich when poor in all things.” 
They perceived not that the rulers of this world only 
lend their aid at the price of subserviency, and in fur¬ 
therance of political purposes, and have only found out, 
in their day of adversity, what the history of the world 
should have taught them, that even acts of parliament 
and coronation oaths must yield before political expe¬ 
diency— the necessity of statesmen. 

The Homan Catholic Church has been wiser in its 
generation — it had better studied the world and the 
human heart ; and thus while, in its ecclesiastical 
system, the head of this Church may associate with 
kings, and its cardinals mix with princes on equal 
terms, the wandering mendicant, and the prisoner in 


VALLA MB ROSA. 


139 


his dungeon, are equally included in the cares of its 
ministry, and have their appropriate ministers—the re¬ 
sult has been such power and influence as no other 
body, political or religious, in the world, ever wielded, 
and which, even in this our day, humbled as it has 
been, is still so great as to compel deference and con¬ 
ciliation from hostile statesmen. With these sentiments, 
it may be justly supposed, that I visited with much 
pleasure the beautiful and renowned abbey of Vallam- 
brosa, celebrated for its hospitality by Dante, and made still 
more memorable to Englishmen, by the glowing descrip¬ 
tion of Milton. Its lovely scenery, indeed, is said to 
have inspired the muse of our immortal poet, and to 
have furnished him with pictures for the most beautiful 
descriptive passages of the “ Paradise Lost.” I did 
indeed visit Vallambrosa, and wander with delight— 

“ Where the Etrurian shades, high over-arched, embower.” 

Vallambrosa was one of the first objects of my in¬ 
quiries on arriving at Florence, and daily was my ardent 
anxiety to visit it heightened, when, driving in the Casino, 
I beheld it far away, elevated amongst the mountains; 
its dark woods and emerald glades just visible, as the 
setting sun shone full upon them. It is, perhaps, one 
of the most delightful excursions that Florence affords ; 
and I rejoice to have had an opportunity, in the two 
successive years I spent in Italy, of twice writing my 
name in the book of the Padre dei Forestieri. Of all 
the monastic orders, the Benedictines have been the 
most distinguished for their learning and liberality, and 
freedom from persecution and bigotry. In every country 
in which they settled, have they left splendid monuments 
of their munificent charity, and zeal for learning. The 








140 


VALLAMBROSA. 


abbey of Vallambrosa, founded in the eleventh century 
by Giovani Gualbertus, a distinguished Florentine no¬ 
bleman, became one of the richest establishments in 
Europe. Gualbertus, who had been a distinguished 
warrior, was the first abbot, and is said, by tradition, to 
have been induced by miraculous circumstances to 
abandon the world. His successors, and their learned 
brotherhood, however, did not entirely confine themselves 
to the woods of Vallambrosa; they acquired large estates, 
and the greatest influence, during the middle ages, in 
Tuscany, where they possessed many churches and 
dependant societies. 

Vallambrosa continued undisturbed until Italy was 
overrun by the revolutionary armies of France, when 

the order was suppressed, its estates seized for the 
use of the State, and its venerable abbey unroofed by 
the French republicans. In this state it continued, 

till restored by Ferdinand, the father of the present 
Grand Duke, to whom the stranger will see an eulogistic 
tablet in the vestibule of the chapel, which records in 
indignant terms the spoliation of the French— 

“ Gallorum armis opibus alienis semper inhiantium.” 

Three hours’ drive along the beautiful course of the 
Arno (which nowhere round Florence appears more clear 
and lovely) brings us to the little village of Pellago, 

where it is necessary to hire mules to ascend to the 

monastery, or to proceed on foot, which, however, is 
very fatiguing, as the road is a continuous ascent of 
nearly an hour’s duration. 

The scenery, however, is enchanting : the eye, wea¬ 
ried with the arid and sunburnt plains, and the same¬ 
ness of the olivewoods we have left below, beholds, 


VALLAMBROSA. 


141 


with delight, the forests of dense green oak, mingled 
with the dark pines, or turns, with longing look, to 
the green enclosure that crowns the summit of the 
mountain, and seems to invite forward our weary foot¬ 
steps as we toil upward: 

“ So, on he fares, and to the border comes 
Of Eden, where delicious Paradise, 

Now nearer, crowns with her enclosure green, 

As with a rural mound, the champaign head 
Of a steep wilderness; whose hairy sides, 

With thicket overgrown, grotesque and wild, 

Access denied ; and overhead up grew, 

Insuperable height of loftiest shade, 

Cedar, and pine, and fir.”' 

As we ascend, we begin to feel the refreshing influ¬ 
ence of a more bracing and vigorous climate, as well 
as meet indications of it, in meeting the trees and 
shrubs of northern climes. 

The woods of Vallambrosa remind us of the finest 
park-scenery of England, while the bright green of 
the sward recalled the emerald-green of my native 
isle. During the time that Vallambrosa was in the 
hands of the French republicans, sad havoc was made 
in its ancient woods. 

The roads, too, which formerly were excellent, are now 
impassable to any kind of wheel carriage; and altogether, 
even at Vallambrosa, we have many indications of the 
poverty and decay into which nearly all the monastic 
institutions have fallen. We at last reached the venerable 
abbey, a large plain-looking edifice, with a considerable 
range of offices attached. Though it has something of 
the appearance of what are called “ the strong houses” 
of the sixteenth century, it does not possess the mingled 








VALLAMBROSA. 


14 ^ 

ecclesiastical and warlike style which belonged to the 
monasteries' of England and Scotland. Doubtless the 
monks of Vallambrosa relied more upon their remote 
situation, and the sanctity and veneration attached to the 
religious orders, to protect them from aggression. 

But they were further protected by the allegiance of 
their numerous feudatories and tenants, who held under 
them a great tract of the surrounding country. The 
abbey is placed on a beautiful green lawn, surrounded on 
three sides by an amphitheatre of dark pine woods, which 
protect it towards the north, in some degree, from the fury 
of the tempest Still, although Vallambrosa must be a 
most delightful summer retreat in Italy, it must be, during 
winter, an awful residence—in fact, so severe and trying, 
particularly to an Italian constitution, is this elevated 
region in winter, that many of the monks are obliged to 
retire to a smaller convent, lower down the mountain, 
called II Paradiso. Every year, long before winter sets 
in in the plains, they are snowed up, and all communi¬ 
cation is cut off, while at night no other sounds are heard 
but the roar of the tempest, and the howling of the wolves 
which infest the woods Nothing but religious zeal, and 
a deep sense and experience of the vanities of the world, 
could induce men to choose such a life, or support them 
under its deprivations. And yet, multitudes have 
embraced such a life ; men, too, of the most opposite 
characters ; the cold, the calculating, and the ambitious, 
the young and enthusiastic, have here alike 


“ Left a world where strong temptations try, 
And, since ’tis hard to conquer, learned to fly.” 


Men have made the greatest sacrifices—the monarch his 


YALLAMBROSA. 


143 


crown—the warrior his victorious sword—the poet his 
laurel wreath, for the shades of the cloister; disgusted with 
the unsatisfying nature of all human enjoyments, op¬ 
pressed with the load of human woe, or smarting under a 
sense of ingratitude or wrong, men have sought to still 
their various and contending emotions, and to find repose, 
if not happiness, under the habit of the monk. 

But did they succeed ? Pid they find the tranquillity 
they sought ? Ah ! who can answer that question ? He 
alone who can read the human heart—and He has told 
us “ to use the world as not abusing it.” He has settled 
the long-disputed question of the philosophers and school¬ 
men, whether action or contemplation is the proper busi¬ 
ness of man. The same inspired apostle who called on 
the early Christians to “ come out, and be separate” from 
an idolatrous world, laboured with his own hands in his 
proper vocation ; and yet how often do we meet in this 
world highly-gifted spirits, who seem incapable of battling 
with the world ? who, in society, contract its vices—in 
retirement, bring forth their proper virtues—who feel 

“ A pleasure in the pathless woods, 

A rapture on the lonely shore.” 

Yes ! it is natural for enthusiastic and disappointed minds 
like these to turn to the cloisters of the convent. 

I ascended the summit of the mountain behind the 
abbey, which commands one of the finest prospects in 
Italy, and then sat down to meditate, gazing on the 
haunts of men far removed beneath me. Having rambled 
about some hours, I returned to the abbey, when the 
good Padre Forestieri (one of the monks takes upon him 
the office in turn), whose duty it is to see that the rites 
of hospitality be observed to the strangers who visit the 









144 


VALLAMBROSA. 


abbey, informed us that our dinner was ready. We 
found a frugal but sufficient meal prepared in a very 
beautiful chamber in the convent appropriated to guests, 
and having seen us seated, he bowed and left us to the 
care of an attendant. The fare was very plain, but 
our appetites were good, and we enjoyed the dessert 
particularly, which consisted of plates of the wild straw¬ 
berries which are found here in the greatest abundance. 
After dinner we strolled into the beautiful chapel of 
the abbey ; the brotherhood were chaunting the vespers, 
and never did that beautiful service appear to me 
more solemn or more touching—the setting sun was 
streaming through the painted window, as the monks 
chaunted forth the exulting psalm of David— 

“ Laudate pueri Domini, laudate nomen Domini, 

A solis ortu usque ad occasum, 

Laudabile nomen Domini.” 

The strain ceased—the greater part of the monks quietly 
withdrew to their cells, while a few of them came 
forth to enjoy their evening walk, and contemplate 
the sunset. We called to our guides to get ready 
our mules, when the Padre Forestieri came to inquire 
“ would we not stop the night, as beds had been pre¬ 
pared for us ?” but thankfully declining the proffered 
hospitality, and presenting him with a trifling contri¬ 
bution (as usual) to the eleemosynary funds of the 
convent, we mounted our mules, and set forward on 
our road down the mountain. My companion was a 
Roman Catholic, and had paid repeated visits to Val- 
lambrosa, but, notwithstanding my feelings as a Pro¬ 
testant, I did not depart from the venerable pile less 
unmoved than he did, or without a feeling of a sincere 


SUMMER ARRANGEMENTS. 


145 


respect and sympathy for the few faithful brethren 
that still abide amidst the secluded and venerable 
scenes of their ancient order. 

Summer was approaching—the season that puts to 
flight the crowds of foreign travellers, that, like swal¬ 
lows, have sought this genial clime in the winter ; 
some were returning home—some were setting off to 
Switzerland, while others, still charmed with Italy, were 
wending their way to Naples, hoping to find some 
cool retreat on the shores of its lovely bay. 

The greatest portion of the Florence society, how¬ 
ever, remove in summer to the baths of Lucca, or to 
Siena. But I had heard of these summer settlements 
nothing very tempting, and pleased to break new 
ground, and struck with the fine situation of the old 
and celebrated town of Pistoja, through which I pass¬ 
ed on my visit to Lucca, in search of quarters, we 
resolved on taking the Villa Collegallato, a spacious 
and beautifully situated villa, overlooking the town, 
and commanding an extensive and beautiful prospect 
of the Val d’Arno. Before settling here, however, 
for the summer, we thought “the pleasant month of 
May” a good season to carry into effect our intended 
visit to Venice. We proposed to make a detour by 
Mantua and Modena, and so return to Pistoja direct. 

I had bought a pair of hardy horses, and with a 
light carriage, and a shrewd Italian man-servant, 
having made all proper arrangements for our family 

in our absence, E- and I set out from Florence, 

with much anticipated pleasure. I was glad I had 
occupied some of my time, during the winter, in ac¬ 
quiring some knowledge of the Italian language, as it 
is almost essential, if we would avoid imposition in 
travelling in Italy; and yet, satisfied with a smatter- 








146 


SUMMER ARRANGEMENTS. 



ing of French, which, however current in the large 
towns, is of little use to us in remote places, our 
countrymen generally neglect cultivating Italian; others, 
from not mixing with the Italians, or hiring Italian 
servants, only know the language from Dante or Tasso, 
or some very classic prose-writer, while they cannot 
sustain the most easy conversation, or even convey 
their ordinary wants intelligibly, in the familiar lan¬ 
guage of the modern Italians. 

I remember hearing of an English lady who lately 
arrived in Florence, and wishing to display her Italian, 
puzzled the waiter of the hotel, by telling him that she 
wanted “ cochio banchetto e destrieri.” Seeing the 
poor Florentine quite confounded, she was obliged to 
tell him, at last, in French, that she simply wanted to 
hire a carriage for a drive. 

Although our first impressions of “ Firenze la bella” 
were those of disappointment, we did not leave her 
without a strong feeling of regret, the result, perhaps, 
of her calm and placid beauty, which attracts and 
fixes the affections the better we become acquainted, 
and identify ourselves, as it were, with her features, 
both natural and intellectual; nothing, indeed, but Venice, 
in prospective, could have easily reconciled us to the 
separation. 



JOURNEY TO VENICE. 


147 


CHAPTER XI. 


Journey to Venice by Bologna—Ferrara and Padua—Arrival in Venice. 


Passing over the night we spent at “ Le Maschere,” 
and our passage of the Apennines, let it suffice to say, 
that we did not require the vexatious searching at the 
Dogana, nor the heavy tax demanded for our carriage, 
to remind us that we had entered the Papal States. 
The difference was too striking not to be immediately 
observed. We had not seen a beggar since we quitted 
the gates of Florence, and had travelled over roads 
which would have even pleased the most fastidious Mac- 
adamite. We had, however, scarcely crossed the fron¬ 
tier, when, in some degree of alarm, I put my head out 
of the carriage window to inquire the cause of the 
unusual jolting and shaking, while our ears were as¬ 
sailed by troops of ragged children, in every form of 
supplication, begging money or bread—painfully calling 
to my recollection similar scenes before witnessed in 
the southern and western counties of my own lovely 
but unfortunate land. Tuscany may be a despotic go¬ 
vernment ; but on that account the greater praise is due 
to the sovereign, who, entrusted with despotic power, 
only employs it to diffuse happiness and prosperity 
through his dominions; and well does he merit the 








148 


JOURNEY TO VENICE. 


appellation of “ Un Angelo,” which so often and so 
warmly we have heard bestowed upon him by his 
people. In leaving Tuscany, we lost sight of those 
large white oxen, with their soft black eyes, speaking, 
as eloquently as eyes of beast can speak, of a mild 
and patient spirit within. Certainly, if the white bull 
sacred among the Egyptians, resembled those of Tus¬ 
cany, one may be tempted sooner to excuse its worship, 
than that which the same people bestowed upon reptiles 
and other hideous things. The road, for ten miles before 
it enters Bologna, passes through a rich plain, watered 
by the Reno, now a scattered stream, but, by its bed, 
showing that, in other seasons, it is no insignificant tor¬ 
rent. Here, for the first time in Italy, we saw cattle 
grazing in the fields,* giving that indescribable charm 
to country life, which the painters of the Dutch school 
understood so well, and which gives a charm to their 
representations, even of the most commonplace scenery. 
Bologna is a large, and, for a papal, rather a flourishing 
town ; its school of painting has been one of the most 
celebrated in Italy ; its ciccaclemia contains a large and 
valuable collection of pictures, and it possesses, besides, 
many private collections, worthy of a visit. The theatre 
at Bologna is one of the largest and handsomest in 
Italy, and in general very well supported. During 

our stay, the Prince and Princess P- performed 

for charity; and, even had they been professional, their 
performance must have been considered more than 
respectable. 

Who does not feel the difficulty of disconnecting places 

* In Piedmont, Lombardy, and part of the Kingdom of Naples, the 
cattle feed, as with us, at large in the fields; but elsewhere they are fed 
in-doors—a much more profitable and economical system. 



JOURNEY TO VENICE. 


149 


from the occurrences or productions for which they are 
famous ? and, however unsentimental it may appear, it 
is as impossible to recall Bologna, without thinking of 
its sausages, or Perigord, its pates de foie gras , as to 
think of Thrasymene without Hannibal and his elephants, 
or Poictiers, without a sigh for the Black Prince. The 
churches of Bologna are not remarkable for their archi¬ 
tectural beauty. That of Saint Petronio is interesting 
from its high antiquity. It was built in the year 432, and 
is one of the oldest Christian temples in Italy. It con¬ 
tains the celebrated meridian of Cassini. It is, perhaps, 
questionable whether a structure set apart for the worship 
of the Deity, is the proper site to select for placing the 
result of a scientific discovery, and whether the crowds 
rushing into St. Petronio, at the hours of noon, to set 
their watches, do not, in a great degree, impair the 
devotional air of the place. The leaning towers are 
two common brick structures, with no claim to beauty ; 
their inclination from the perpendicular is sufficient to 
excite in the beholders an idea of their extreme ungain- 
liness, and perhaps some personal fear ; but they fall far 
short of inspiring a feeling of either awe or sublimity. The 
fountain in the Piazza del Gigante, is the work of Gian 
Bologna. The Neptune is much admired. The Univer¬ 
sity of Bologna is one of the oldest in Italy—at least, 
one of the first which conferred academical degrees ; 
but, though the learning of Bologna may have dimi¬ 
nished, the ancient courtesy of its inhabitants has not, 
though these civilities may not Be conveyed in a dialect 
as pure as in the days of Dante, who pronounced that 
of Bologna to be the purest in Italy. A remnant of this 
ancient courtesy may be traced in the greeting bestowed 
upon every stranger on his arrival in Bologna, by a band 
of musicians; and though the alteration of customs, pro- 


150 


JOURNEY TO VENICE. 


cluced by the lapse of centuries, may have rendered this 
not a gratuitous attention, as formerly, yet the demand 
uj)on the generosity of the traveller is so small, and so 
thankfully received, that mercenary and calculating must 
be the person who can look upon this little ceremony in 
any other light than that of a cordial and graceful wel¬ 
come. 

The road from Bologna to Ferrara passes entirely 
through a miserable and swampy country, and the 
journey, though performed in a carriage, may, without 
any great blunder, be said to have been an aquatic 
one. The wretched huts of the peasantry, built of 
reeds and mud, seem to rise out of the stagnant 
waters by which they are surrounded; the inhabi¬ 
tants looking miserable and agueish, as the occupiers 
of such habitations, in such a soil, may be supposed 
to look. Water is the great enemy of these tracts, 
and from their extreme flatness, draining would be 
difficult, or, perhaps, impossible. Nothing living could 
thrive in such extreme humidity except frogs , and they 
seemed in the full vigour of health and life, regaling 
us with their incessant croakings during the whole 
journey. The entrance to the city of Ferrara is not 
calculated to dispel the gloomy impressions which 
the road to it inspires; its wide and grass-grown 
streets, its deserted and ruinous palaces, give an idea 
of desolation which must be witnessed to be under¬ 
stood. Ferrara was built for a population of one 
hundred thousand, and now its inhabitants scarcely 
amount to one-fifth of that number. To every ad¬ 
mirer of Tasso (and who that is acquainted with his 
immortal works is not?) the first object of interest at 
Ferrara will be his prison; it is an underground 
cell, in the hospital of St. Anna, in that part of the 


JOURNEY TO VENICE. 


151 


building appropriated to maniacs. Over the door is 
the following inscription :— 

Rispettate o posteri, la celebrita di questa stanza, dove Torquato Tasso in- 
fermo piu di tristezza che delirio ditenuto diino Anni 7—Mesravai 2.” 


But the petty tyrant failed to break down the great 
mind of the poet, and to level it with those of the 
degraded specimens of humanity with whom, for this 
purpose, it would seem he had associated him; he 
wished him to be considered mad, and so he chained 
him among madmen. But, surely, the idea of even 
earthly retribution is no dream. Where now is this 
proud family of Este ?—and who thinks of Alphonzo, 
Duke of Ferrara, but to execrate his tyranny and cru¬ 
elty to that great genius, who honored his court with 
his presence, and his family by his praises. The 
library at Ferrara contains the original manuscript of 
the “ Gerusalemme,” with corrections by Tasso’s hand; 
and, also, a manuscript of a poem of great beauty, 
addressed by him to Alphonzo, during his imprison¬ 
ment, in which he says, with touching simplicity, 
“ that he had dreamed that his poems might have 
brought him fame, but not a dungeon.” Were Fer¬ 
rara more populous, or less ruinous, it would not be 
a fit locality for Tasso’s prison; its very desolation is 
soothing to the irritation of the feelings which a 
view of the horrid cell inspires; it may, indeed, be 
said— 


“ And Tasso is their glory and their shame.” 

The library here also contains the tomb of Ariosto, 
which was removed hither by the French, from the 


152 


JOURNEY TO VENICE. 


Benedictine convent—a more suitable place, one would 
imagine, for a tomb, than where it is now placed, 
among living students. His inkstand, chair, and a 
bronze medallion of the poet, are more appropriately 
placed here. The chair, which has suffered more 
from the thefts of the worshippers of such relics, than 
even from the ravages of time, is now placed within 
a glass-case, and only shown to the curious through 
this protecting medium; the visitor is also shown a 
letter, addressed by the poet to the Countess Strozzi 
of Florence, by whom he was employed as an agent; 
it is on the subject of a pair of oxen, to be hired for 
two years to a contadino, and is curious, as proving 
that even poets sometimes must bring down their 
minds to the level of common things, and that the 
“bard of chivalry” was, at times, forced to commune 
with those humble spirits, “ whose talk is of bullocks.” 
The ducal palace stands gloomily surrounded by moats, 
and flanked by strong towers; I don’t know why— 
but its chief interest, to me, arose from its having 
been the residence of Lucretia Borgia. Here, in these 
chambers, lived that extraordinary woman, who, after she 
became the wife of the Duke of Ferrara, passed the 
last years of her life here, we are told, and we must, in 
charity, believe it, in that virtue and tranquillity, of 
which her previous career had afforded so little pro¬ 
mise, and which was so rare in the race from which 
she sprung. The ducal palace is now appropriated to 
the residence of the cardinal legate. 

In a piazza close by, is shown the spot where were 
beheaded Ugo and Parasina, the cause and victims of 
the domestic tragedy which Lord Byron has made the 
subject of his beautiful poem. I have already observed 
that the approach to Ferrara is calculated to inspire 


JOURNEY TO VENICE. 


153 


melancholy impressions, which every object in the town 
tends to increase; as if everything should be in keeping, 
and that we should not retain one agreeable recollection 
of Ferrara, we found the hotel (“ I tremori”) one of 
the dirtiest and most extravagantly dear, on the road; 
having objected to the amount of the bill, I placed 
on the table the sum which I conceived would be a 
sufficient payment, and, in that decided John-Bullish 
manner, which is not to be mistaken, announced my 
determination to pay no more. After some Italian 
blustering, the waiter took up the money, saying, at the 
same time, what he conceived would give us the utmost 
mortification, viz., that he would write in the travellers'- 
book, that an English family had paid only so much 
for breakfast, dinner, &c.—if volumes were written on 
the national character, they could not convey more. 
Our national vanity takes one of the least pleasing forms, 
that of purse vanity—to suppose us poor, is to suppose 
us mean ; the words in English are synonymous, and, 
of course, from this arises the prevailing notion, that 
poverty is sin, and wealth virtue. An Englishman is 
too apt to consider that, by a lavish display of wealth, 
he attracts attention—he certainly does, from the crafty 
innkeeper, who, while he ministers to this national 
foible, and overwhelms the Englishman with bows, and 
loads him with titles, quietly swells his bill, for fare 
much inferior to that offered to travellers of any other 
nation. We have been more than once advised, by 
Italian friends, to designate ourselves on our travels, 
as of any other nation than English—and why ? Because 
the English are universally considered on the Continent, 
not only as calves, but golden ones. At Bovigo, we 
entered the church at vesper service, and heard a charity 
sermon preached for the Virgin!—so I must call it, for 

h 2 


154 


JOURNEY TO VENICE. 


all the preacher’s eloquence was addressed to increasing 
the contributions for the “Santissima Vergine,” and which 
were received in a begging-box, that went round at 
the end of the sermon. No one who has not witnessed 
it, can have an idea of the state of excitement to which 
an Italian preacher thinks it necessary to work himself— 
to the vehemence of his gesticulations—running from end 
to end of the large pulpit—snatching his cap from off 
his head, and throwing it down with violence—the ex¬ 
clamations, and the “ Dio Mios,” not uttered with 
reverence, but as in every-day discourse—all baffle de¬ 
scription, and inspire at the least as much mirth as they 
do devotion. The good pastor dilated on the virtue of gra¬ 
titude, and argued that, if we did not entertain gratitude 
for the Mother, how could we for the Son; and, to 
enforce his argument, and that gratitude was even felt 
by the brute creation, he related the story of a soldier, 
who, lost in a forest, was approached by a lioness—the 
soldier, at sight of the ferocious beast, gave himself 
up as lost—the lioness, however, instead of, as he 
fully expected, making him her evening meal, shewed, 
by unmistakeable signs, that she desired his company 
in a walk. The soldier, not daring to disobey, fol¬ 
lowed his conductress, who led him to a pit, and 
pointing to two of her whelps which had fallen in, she 
gave him to understand that her will was that he should 
lift them out. Descending, he raised them up, when the 
gratitude of the lioness was as unbounded as her joy; 
she bounded round the soldier, and not content with the 
idle expression of it, she escorted him in safety out of 
the forest. I have given a literal sketch of the story, 
but the manner in which it was related cannot be con¬ 
veyed, and on this the whole point lies. The dismay 
of the soldier, the sorrow of the bereft lioness, and 


JOURNEY TO VENICE. 


155 


her joy at recovering her young ones, were all acted as 
well as spoken. At parts of his recital there were very 
audible titters among the auditors, nor did it seem to be 
considered in the least irreverent or indecorous. At 
Monselice we rejoiced to find ourselves emerging from 
the marshes, and again approaching the hills. Imme¬ 
diately over the little town of Monselice, rises an abrupt 
and conical hill, crowned with the ruins of seven small 
churches, rich in relics and the bones of saints ; the 
exact number which they contain I am afraid to assert, 
but I know they would make no insignificant show, 
beside the eleven thousand skulls at Cologne. 

The road from hence to Padua, along the Brenta, passes 
through a rich and rather picturesque country; but, 
perhaps, it may have owed some of its attraction to con¬ 
trast with the last sixty miles over which we had travelled. 
On the left of the road rises the convent of Montevento, 
embosomed in dense woods of lofty cypresses, affording a 
picturesque addition to the landscape. We were informed 
that it is now deserted. The situation is most lovely, 
and, as the name implies, must be delightful in a warm 
climate; but, perhaps, the good fathers found the situa¬ 
tion too elevated for the conveniences of life, for, in every 
age and every clime, the stoled priest and the cowled 
monk has been found attached to the creature-comforts 
of life. The beautiful palazzos along the Brenta, many 
of them the work of Palladio, were the favorite resorts 
of the Venetian nobles, when they quitted their sea- 
built city to dwell on terra firma. Many of the former 
residences of these once proud nobles are now occupied 
by Jews ; strange and interesting people—so observant, 
during all the vicissitudes of their varied destiny, so rigid 
of the letter of their law, and so unmindful of its spirit— 


156 


JOURNEY TO VENICE. 


so dispersed into every country of the world, and yet so 
distinct from all its other inhabitants. 

The entrance to Padua, and particularly the first view 
of the church of St. Antonio, transports the imagination 
to the East. Its domes and cupolas, rising one over the 
other in endless confusion, resemble more a Turkish 
mosque than a Christian temple. The town has rather 
a gloomy appearance, owing to the streets being lined with 
porticoes; but, however such an addition may destroy 
their beauty, it must be an immense advantage to the 
inhabitants, to have a walk sheltered from the heat of 
the sun, or from sudden rains. The interior of the church 
of St. Antonio, but particularly the chapel dedicated to 
the saint, is rich in gold, silver, and precious marbles. 
The cathedral contains a monument to Petrarch—for 
Padua, with that spirit so truly Italian, of wishing to 
do honor to genius, has laid her claim to this great poet, 
from his having been a prebendary of her cathedral, for 
some years before he retired to the solitudes of Arqua. 
In the sacristy is a portrait of the poet, the same fat, 
not, perhaps, absolutely unintellectual, but decidedly 
sensual face, which painters have invariably given him : 
surely the face here is no index to the mind, for who can 
suppose the touching and simple, often elevated strains of 
the poet, allied to one thought of impurity. 

The Sala, in the Palazzo della Giustizia, is, after West¬ 
minster Hall, the largest hall in Europe; but it has this 
superiority over the latter, that it is elevated from the 
ground. It contains a monument to Livy, the Roman 
historian, who was born and died at Padua. From 
Padua we proceeded by railway to Mestre, the point 
of embarkation for Venice. The evening was cold, the 
moon rose blood-red, and the wind, fitful and gusty, 
seemed to portend one of those sudden and violent storms 


JOURNEY TO VENICE. 


157 


peculiar to the climate of Italy. This was discouraging, 
and decidedly unfavourable to first impressions; but we 
were too impatient to consult effect; and therefore, not¬ 
withstanding the lowering look of the sky, ordered a 
gondola immediately, to convey us to Venice. It was 
quite dark when we reached the grand canal, and rowed 
through it to our hotel; so that imagination was left to 
run riot with its dreams till morning. 



158 


VENICE. 


CHAPTER XII. 


Venice—Needlessness of any Description of it—A glance at its History—The Venetians 
—Their love of Music—Disappearance of their ancient Costume—Wrong done to 
Venice by the Treaty of Campo Formio. 


The day dawned brilliantly, disappointing all the fears 
of the preceding night; and, forgetting the fatigue of 
yesterday, and unmindful of the few hours’ repose we 
had enjoyed, we despatched a hasty breakfast, and or¬ 
dered our gondolier to row us to the Piazza San Marco. 

Venice has so often furnished subjects of description 
both to the pen and to the pencil—its history is so 
familiar to all who read, and its locality to all who do 
not, by the views of Canaletti and his numerous imitators, 
that its reality will be interesting, not from its novelty, 
but according to the imagination of the individual. 
Venice is, par excellence , the residence for a person of 
an imaginative turn of mind ; and, according to the 
proportion of this ingredient of happiness or misery in 
the composition, will be the delight or ennui experienced 
in visiting Venice. Lord Byron has styled Rome the 
“ City of the SoulI would say that Venice is the “ City 
of the Heart.” Here the affections are called into play— 
here every ruin is lovely and loveable; and, as every 
day which brings a loved object nearer to the grave 
but strengthens the chain which binds them to our 


VENICE. 


159 


hearts, so Venice, tottering into the abyss of waters 
from whence she rose, is far more interesting now, than 
in her day of pride and power. To enumerate, where 
all seems such hopeless confusion, or to describe, where, 
out of confusion, arises such beauty, would be a task 
indeed. Venice is to be seen and loved—not described. 
She dwells upon the memory, like some beautiful vision 
of a dream, and to describe, would be to awake and 
lose half the charming illusion. But, though any de¬ 
scription must be “ flat, stale, and unprofitable,” I will 
endeavour to impart to you some of the impressions of 
delight and pleasure which our' visit to the “ City of 
Waters” has afforded me. 

To begin, then, with the churches : It is true, that 
those alone built by Palladio are of purely correct archi¬ 
tecture ; but who can avoid gazing, with wonder and 
delight, upon St. Marco, because its style is neither 
Grecian, nor Gothic, nor Saracenic, but a happy com¬ 
bination of all—in which beauty and quaintness, grace 
and whimsicality, defying all the rules of art, must 
disarm even criticism. The palaces which line the 
canals, and which, even in their ruin, so charm the 
eye and entrance the imagination with their beauty 
of outline, and richness of ornament, are equally mixed 
and irregular in their style. The government, to pre¬ 
vent the entire destruction of these beautiful edifices, 
has given orders for the purchase of such as the pro¬ 
prietors will dispose of; and on the failure of the 
family, the palazzo by right falls to the crown. We 
were pointed out two or three in this condition, inha¬ 
bited by the last of a long line of proud nobles, who, 
concealing themselves in a corner of the splendid pa¬ 
lazzo, once filled with a numerous retinue of domestics, 
and brilliant with all the accessories of wealth and 


160 


VENICE. 


vanity, drag out a miserable existence, perhaps fondly 
hoping, that in the crowd of pensioners and dependants, 
their individual degradation may have been forgotten. 
But, perhaps, even in their most perfect state, these 
magnificent palaces were more calculated to call forth 
our admiration than our respect. They were not, in 
general, erected till the fifteenth century, at a period 
when Venice had long departed from her primitive 
virtue and simplicity, and when the luxury and vices 
of her nobles led the way to her “ decline and fall.” 
It is to an age antecedent to this that we must look 
for the real greatness of Venice. We go back in 
imagination to those stern lovers of freedom, who, 
flying from slavery on the land, formed for themselves 
a free home on the bosom of ocean; nor can we too 
much admire and applaud the persevering industry 
which, regardless of the disadvantages of soil and the 
want of materials, formed for themselves a city in such 
a situation. It has been truly observed, that, at a time 
when England and France contained only rude huts, 
and when a Pharamond and an Egbert, with their 
courtiers, warmed themselves round a fire kindled on 
the ground, half blinded and suffocated by the smoke, 
the poorest fisherman in Venice possessed a house with 
all the conveniences of life ; nor, having once accom¬ 
plished this victory over nature, did the Venetians rest 
there. The page of history will for ever attest this: 
and, while we read on every occasion of the Crescent 
having bowed to the Cross—of a Dandolo planting the 
Lion of St. Mark’s on the walls of Constantinople, and 
an emperor coming as a suppliant to their church, can 
their boast of having founded a great city, be said to 
be empty. But where are the descendants of these 
proud Venetians? or, with their blood, did they not 


VENICE. 


161 


transmit to their sons one spark of the spirit which 
animated them ? Was the power that crushed them 
too overwhelming for any unaided resistance, or was 
that fated period of their renowned republic (which, 
like everything human, carried within it the seeds of 
decay) arrived, which was to put a term to its long- 
protracted existence ? The inquiry boots little: the 
sad and mournful results to Venice have been the same, 
whatever may have been the exciting causes. 

“ ’Twere vain to tell, and sad to trace, 

Each step from splendour to'disgrace. 

Enough, no foreign foe could quell 
Thy soul, till from itself it fell; 

Yes, self-abasement paved the way 
To villain bonds and despot sway.” 

Their ancient vivacity and gaiety cannot, however, be 
said to have fled; and a stranger who arrives in Venice, 
and desiring the opportunity of comparing its present 
with its former state, sees the thoughtless and light¬ 
hearted looking crowds which throng its piazza, would 
scarcely believe, much less discover, the degradation and 
misery which pervade this once imperial city. 

Venice, even in musical Italy, has in all ages been 
remarkable for her love of song. The life the Vene¬ 
tians always led was favourable to the twin-sisters, 
Music and Poetry. When the first star of evening 
appeared, stretched in their gondolas to catch the night- 
breeze from the Adriatic, their thoughts naturally took 
a poetical form, and music was made the vehicle of 
expressing them. The kind of song called “ serenata”— 
by us, serenade — was first composed in Venice, and 
took its origin from this custom. Even the gondolier, 
waiting in his barque, soothed the tedium of the time 


162 


VENICE. 


by reciting, in a sort of musical monotony, some verses 
of Tasso’s “ Gerusalemme,” which were taken up and 
continued by another gondolier at a little distance ; and 
thus (we are told), it was no uncommon thing to hear, 
in this way, recited, or rather chaunted, the sorrows of 
Clorinda, the description of the Palace of Armida, or 
some other beautiful portion of this magnificent poem. 
Though it is too true that Tasso’s verses may no longer 
be heard, yet the gondolier does not always row “ silent 
or voiceless ”—the love of the Venetians for music has 
not perished with their republic ; and the writer of 
these pages can certify the pleasure and surprise often 
experienced at the grace as well as skill which many 
of the gondoliers evinced in singing their national songs, 
as well as other familiar airs from the most favourite 
operas. Venice even now supports seven theatres, most 
of which are appropriated solely to musical representa¬ 
tions. One distinguishing feature of Venice has faded 
away—I mean her national costume. The pictures of 
the truthful Corpaggio, who, as described by his cotem¬ 
poraries, is said “ to have had truth in his heart,” give 
us a very exact idea of what those costumes were. They 
continued to adopt the eastern fashion so long as the 
political and commercial relations of Venice were con¬ 
fined solely or principally to the Greek Empire ; so that 
the costume of the Venetian noble resembled very much 
that of the patrician of the Byzantian court. At the 
beginning of the sixteenth century, a change of dress 
was adopted, which was copied from the French and 
Spaniards; and the writers of this period speak with 
great indignation of the forgetfulness of the Italians, 
and their degeneracy, in adopting the dress of the ultra¬ 
montane people whom they once governed. 


VENICE. 


163 


The rage for foreign fashions was only exceeded 
by the unbounded luxury of the Venetians, both 
in the materials of which the dresses were com¬ 
posed, and in the precious stones and gold used 
in ornamenting them. This luxury became at last 
so extravagant, as to call for severe sumptuary laws, 
“ by which,” Sansorino tells us, “ the richness of the 
habiliments of both sexes was at length reduced within 
decent boundsbut, as in all ages, the fickle 
deity of fashion is always in extremes, it then be¬ 
came universal for ladies of rank to appear always in 
black, in the morning, and at all hours out of doors—a 
custom that continued down to the fall of the republic. 
So uniform and unstriking a costume may have been 
found convenient in a city, where we read, on every side, 
of the general corruption of morals ; for in the midst of 
this profligacy, we are told, that the use of the white 
veil, the distinguishing costume of the young unmarried 
women of irreproachable virtue, was so strictly guarded 
that the severest punishments were inflicted on such as 
presumed to wear it, who could not lay claim to the purity 
which it was supposed to indicate. The days of Vene¬ 
tian glory and splendour have passed away ; but it is 
to be feared that the morals of the inhabitants of Venice 
have not improved (as the partisans of the holy alliance 
would have us believe) with the destruction of this re¬ 
nowned republic. The rich and varied costume, which 
ever dazzled and delighted the eye of the stranger in its 
magnificent Piazza, has passed away ; but the degraded 
pander that accosts him in his walks, still shows that 
the ancient leprosy clings to the inhabitants of fallen 
Venice, only rendered the more revolting by their poverty 
and wretchedness. 


164 


VENICE. 


The destruction of the republic of Venice was one of 
the most disgraceful acts of aggression which dishonoured 
the French republic, only equalled by their abandonment 
of it to the detested rule of the Austrians, by the 
treaty of Campo Formio, and the final acquiescence 
of England in this iniquitous arrangement, at the 
settlement of Europe, after the fall of Napoleon. 
Throughout the terrible and eventful struggle which 
closed with that event, the Venetians, as well as 
the Genoese, had looked forward with hope to the 
restoration of their ancient republic, reformed from 
the vices which had led to its overthrow ; and 
bitter was their disappointment, when they found the 
government of that very people on whom they had most 
relied, amongst the foremost and most active in rivet¬ 
ing their chains, and consigning them again to the 
mercy of foreign tyrants. To accomplish this unwor¬ 
thy object, even promises were violated, and a feeling 
of wrong excited, which destroyed throughout Italy the 
long and honourably-acquired popularity of the English 
name. But was our course even politic ? In an¬ 
swer to the remonstrance of the unfortunate Genoese, 
the necessity was stated of increasing the power of 
Sardina, on the sea-board, towards France; but 
who, that knows anything of the military power of 
Sardinia, or the state of her defences on the frontier of 
the Var, could believe it possible for her, on that side, to 
offer any resistance to a French invading army ? As to Ve¬ 
nice, its peculiar and insulated position would seem by 
nature to free her from the dangerous necessity of being 
mixed up with the affairs of continental Italy. Commerce 
and trade would seem the destiny of the Venetians, and, 
as a free-port to all nations, if Venice did not attain her 


VENICE. 


165 


ancient renown, there is little doubt she would have 
been able to support herself as a commercial com¬ 
munity, and have become the entrepot of a wide and 
extensive trade between the Adriatic and the different 
ports of the Mediterranean ; some have even thought that 
Venice might be made the best route between England 
and her vast empire in India—how strange if such a 
project should ever be realized—and thus again make 
the now lovely queen of the Adriatic the emporium of 
India ! But, however this may be, certain it is that, as a 
great commercial country herself, England is far more 
interested in protecting and fostering free commercial 
communities in the Mediterranean (and indeed every¬ 
where else), than in extending the dominions of her 
kingly allies. 

I remember, after listening to a Venetian describe 
the fall of his country, I ventured to ask him 
had the Venetians appealed to England? “Chi lo 
sa ?” said he, with a significant gesture, “ they 
all betrayed us ” — and the answer was as true as 
melancholy. 

The Piazza of St. Mark still retains enough of 
its splendour and originality, to recall the descriptions 
of it in former times ; and the number of '1'urks 
and Greeks whom we may still frequently meet 
lounging under its colonnades, sipping coffee and 
smoking their pipes; but, above all, the cupolas, 
and oriental style of the church of St. Mark, itself, 
give to Venice more the air of an Eastern town, than 
of either an Italian, French or German one. By the 
way, the custom of drinking coffee amongst the 
Venetians is carried to the most extraordinary ex¬ 
tent ; no visit, at any hour of the day, is made 


166 


VENICE. 


without the introduction of coffee. A Venetian gen¬ 
tleman assured me that he frequently took coffee 
fourteen or fifteen times in the day, and that he 
was by no means remarkable. How curious, that 
w r hen all other traces of their Eastern Empire have 
passed away, this remnant of Oriental customs should 
have survived. 



VENICE. 


167 


CHAPTER XIII. 


Churches of Venice—Monuments of the Great Men of the Republic—Marino Faliero— 
Venetian System of Government—Place of St. Mark, and other remarkable locali¬ 
ties—Visit to the Island of the Armenian Convent—The Ducal, Manfrini, and 
Barberigo Palaces—Gallery of the Belle Arti—Arsenal—Departure from Venice. 


The churches of the Madonna della Salute, of St. 
Georgio, and of the Redentore, these splendid edifices, 
the works of Palladio, are justly considered the greatest 
monuments of his genius, and the most successful crea¬ 
tions of modern architecture. 

The church of Santa Maria Gloriosa, called the Fra- 
teria, is also a fine edifice, and in the highest degree inte¬ 
resting, from the numerous splendid monuments it con¬ 
tains, erected in honor of the great men of the Venetian 
Republic. Lord Byron called the church of Sante Croce 
the Westminster Abbey of Italy; and this may, with 
equal or greater propriety, be called the Westminster 
Abbey of Venice. In the Sante Croce, some of the finest 
and most interesting monuments are of modern erection, 
as that of Dante—the tribute of a tardy repentance to 
their immortal countryman. But here we are sur¬ 
rounded on every side by the splendid mausoleums of 
illustrious doges, senators, and captains of Venice, raised 
in the most flourishing times of the Republic, to com¬ 
memorate their glorious achievements, and excite the 
emulation of their countrymen. 


168 


VENICE. 


Amongst the most remarkable of these monuments, 
is the fine equestrian statue of Paoli Savelli, and close 
to it that of another Venetian general, Marcello ; while 
near the high altar, and opposite each other, are two 
splendid monuments of the doges, Nicholaus Thronas 
and Francisco Foscari, the father of Jacopo, the subject 
of Byron’s tragedy. There is also a faded picture, to 
which it relates—a singular-looking wooden sarcophagus, 
marked with two red crosses, which the sacristan told 
us contains the head of Francisco Carniola, beheaded in 
1422, for conspiring to deliver up Brescia to the Milan¬ 
ese. Over the door of the sacristy is a fine figure 
of an armed knight, one of the Pesauri; but the most 
remarkable of these old monuments, and perhaps, in¬ 
deed, for size and richness, one of the most extraordi¬ 
nary works of the kind in Europe, is that erected to 
another of the same noble family, the Doge Giovanni 
Pesauro. 

Its design and taste, however, are very questionable. 
The doge is represented in alto relievo , in his ducal robes, 
kneeling on a sarcophagus, sustained by camels, while 
the whole is supported by Nubians bearing oriental trea¬ 
sures. The most interesting of the modern monuments 
is that which has been erected to the great Canova, who 
was buried in the church; but its design is heavy and 
common-place, unworthy of so great a man, and but 
little creditable to the reviving arts in Italy. In enu¬ 
merating the most interesting churches of Venice, I 
should also mention that of St. Giovanni e Paolo, which 
contains many objects well worthy of our attention, and 
amongst other things, the curious basso-relievo, illus¬ 
trating passages of the life of Christ, by different masters, 
and, amongst others, by Torretto, the master of Canova. 

Lord Byron states, that the sarcophagus of Marino 


VENICE. 


1G9 


Faliero existed in this church, when he resided in 
Venice; hut this is now proved to he a mistake, as 
it w r as destroyed when the convent and adjacent chapel 
were converted into a military hospital. The nearly ille¬ 
gible inscription which Lord Byron mistook for that of 
Marino Faliero, is supposed to have been that of Marino 
Morosini, one of the twenty senators added to the Council 
of Ten, to assist as judges in the extraordinary trial of 
the Doge. What a solemn moral may be drawn from 
this?—judge and criminal alike confounded in the com¬ 
mon oblivion of the grave, “ where all things are for¬ 
gotten.” We may easily believe that the Venetian oli¬ 
garchy were anxious to erase every memorial of the 
daring old man who perished in the attempt to over¬ 
turn their power, and probably forbade any inscription on 
his tomb, even as they have given him but an empty 
place in the gallery of their doges ; but the attempt 
has been vain, and that black picture and its brief in¬ 
scription only serve the more to stimulate our curiosity, 
and excite inquiry. We eagerly turn to the chronicles 
of the times; but they are as brief, and doubtless as 
false, as the lying scroll itself. 

“ Marino Faliero decapitatus 
Pro suis criminibus,” 

is the vindictive and brief summary of his enemies ; as 
trustworthy, however, and more consistent with the ca¬ 
tastrophe, than the puerile story of the chronicle which 
Lord Byron has closely followed, and made the founda¬ 
tion of his tragedy. The ribald insult of Steno may have, 
indeed, provoked the resentment of this fiery old man ; 
but it seems of itself quite insufficient to have induced 
Marino Faliero, full of age and honours—the Doge of 

i 


170 


VENICE. 


Venice—to enter into such a conspiracy. Indeed, I am 
persuaded that it is to this cause, or rather want of cause, 
that we may, in a great measure, attribute the complete 
failure of this drama when produced upon the stage. 

Marino Faliero conspired to overthrow tyranny, and 
the worst species of tyranny—that which assumes the 
style and form of liberty : a republic, in which the nobles 
alone were citizens—the people slaves. He perished in 
the attempt. Had he succeeded, it is most likely that the 
state of Venice would only have assimilated to that of 
Milan and Florence, under the Sporza and Medici ; the 
sole result to the people, an exchange of masters—a 
single tyrant for an oligarchy. But however that might 
have been, the Venetian senators took care that their 
chronicles should tell nothing more than was poolitic, and 
in accordance with their inscription on the empty frame 
of Faliero. What a system of government was that of 
Venice !—how deep its foundations, how unchanged and 
prolonged its existence ! It would seem as if the found¬ 
ers of the Venetian state erected their republic as they 
did their city, in the midst of the ocean ; as if they de¬ 
sired it to exhibit the same eternal and unchanging cha¬ 
racter. Ages and ages rolled away ; nations rose and 
fell ; kingdoms, and dynasties, and manners changed 
around her ; but Venice and her government, her doge, 
her senate, and her councils remained the same—un¬ 
changed and unchangeable ; the “ Queen of the Adriatic’’— 
the marvel of the world—how profound and subtle 
must have been the policy which could found and so 
long support such a structure, which tempered, while 
it excited, the ambition of the Venetians, the most - 
grasping and aspiring of all the states of Italy; for, 
unlike the other Italian republics, conquest and do¬ 
minion were, from the first, a vital element in the 


VENICE. 


171 


policy of Venice, and only ceased to be so with the 
decline of her glory and greatness; as, at the first, a 
footing on terra-firma was an essential object, so the 
desire for territory and lust of conquest ever continued 
to mark her history—her banner, “ the lion of St. 
Markher watchword—“ the planter of the lion.” 
Successively, the greater part of Lombardy, the shores 
of the Adriatic,< Dalmatia, and the Morea, with the 
principal islands, including Candia and Cyprus, were 
added to the dominions of the Venetians, till, at 
length, their alarmed neighbours, entered into leagues 
and treaties with the most powerful monarchs, to 
restrain their insatiable ambition ; but the astute¬ 
ness and sagacity of the Venetian senate as often 
succeeded in breaking up these leagues, by sowing 
dissensions among the high contracting parties, while 
the skill and bravery of their fleets and armies main¬ 
tained and consolidated their conquests. Even when, 
at length, Venice declined—when vice and degrada¬ 
tion had sapped the bravery, and effaced the virtues 
of the Venetian character, the same subtle policy of 
her senate long arrested, although it could not avert, 
her fall. The triumphs of Italian policy throw into 
the shade the greatest achievements of modern diplo¬ 
macy ; the history of the world can shew no such 
examples as Giovanni di Procida and Lorenzo de Me- 
dicis ; or instance individuals who, with equal means, 
have produced or directed events of such importance. 
Government and statesmanship were regarded as a 
science, and assiduously studied by the Italians; and by 
none of them more so than the Venetians. Their states- 
craft was, however, as dark and unscrupulous as it was 
subtle; and the “ Bridge of Sighs,” and dungeons beneath 
the ducal palace, are as eloquent as the pages of Machia- 


172 


VENICE. 


velli. The church of St. Mark’s—the ducal palace, with 
its bridges of sighs, its prisons—the Piazza and Piazere, 
with its trophied columns and winged lion—and the 
Pialto—have all been made from youth so familiar 
to us by the paintings of Canaletti, or, rather, by 
his countless imitators, and the genius of our great¬ 
est dramatists and travellers, that any new descrip¬ 
tions of scenes and places so memorable and well- 
known, would be as unnecessary as idle; indeed, the 
first and most striking impression we receive, on be¬ 
holding Venice, springs from our instant and vivid 
recognition of all that surrounds us; we pace its Piaz¬ 
za, or cross the Rialto, and thread its dark and 
winding “ calle,” as if we were at home, and could 
not possibly miss our way; while all that we have 
read of Venetian story rushes back upon the mind, 
and, alternately, we find ourselves standing before the 
shop of some money-changer, as if we expected that 
Shylock, in his furred cap and Jewish gaberdine, 
would step forth to greet us ; or, lingering beneath 
the balcony of some noble palace, as if hoping to 
catch a glimpse of Desdemona or Belvidere; but, alas! 
a very short time is sufficient to dispel such illusions. 
When leaving the great Piazza, we step into a 
gondola, and glide into the deserted canals, we are 
soon painfully reminded that the city we now behold 
is not the glorious queen of the Adriatic, the Venice 
of our dreams, “throned on her hundred isles;” “the 
revel of the earth—the mask of Italy'—the very genius 
of melancholy and despiair now seems to brood over 
the stagnant waters of the “Grand Canal.” The 
black coffin-looking gondolas, that once presented so 
striking a contrast to the bright dresses and gorgeous 
processions of the Venetians, appear to wear only the 


VENICE. 


173 


proper livery of woe, which harmonizes with all around 
them. Some of the finest palaces are shut up—many 
seem to have been altogether abandoned to decay; 
while, about many of those that are inhabited, there, 
is a look of squalid misery, only rendered more ap¬ 
parent and painful by their architectural beauty and 
rich materials. I saw a mob of Austrian recruits 
crowding the balconies of one of the noblest struc¬ 
tures on the Grand Canal; and as we rowed past the 
Palazzo Foscari, the gondolier, in answer to our in¬ 
quiries, told us, with a melancholy shrug, that its only 
inhabitants now were “ due misefe vecchie,” two mis¬ 
erable old women, the last of their noble race, and 
his own mother their sole attendant! This mourn¬ 
ful aspect of the canals, and the splendid but deserted 
palaces which line them, painfully affect the stranger; 
and it was some time before we could shake off a 
feeling of oppression and melancholy; it is only 
when we turn the prow of our gondola far into the 
Lagune, and, inhaling the fresh breeze of the Adri¬ 
atic, look back upon Venice, that we can recall 
the vision we had indulged in, and behold her again, 
as if by enchantment, rising from the bosom of the 
sea, with her marble palaces and lofty towers, di¬ 
viding the azure sky from the blue wave beneath 
them. Amongst the pleasantest of our excursions 
was the visit we paid to the island, on which is 
situated the famous Armenian convent, to which Lord 
Byron was so frequent a visitor, and where he be¬ 
came the pupil of one of its learned brotherhood. 
Much to our regret, this learned brother was absent. 
We had nothing, however, to wish for, in the way of 
politeness, and a desire to show us everything in the 
convent likely to interest us ; and our cicerone, one of 


174 


VENICE. 


the monks, who spoke English with considerable flu¬ 
ency, we found a highly informed, as well as most 
gentlemanly person; altogether, this fraternity (one of 
the few institutions of the old republic which remains, 
and which owes its existence to the commercial in¬ 
tercourse of Venice with the East) presents an hono¬ 
rable contrast to the general apathy and indolence 
displayed at the present day by the monastic orders. 
The brotherhood devote themselves in a great measure 
to literary pursuits, and to the furtherance of Chris¬ 
tianity in the East; they have their own printing-press, 
and annually send forth from it a great number of 
beautifully-printed works; we took away, as a souvenir 
of our visit and of our intelligent and agreeable guide, a 
beautifully-printed prayer book, containing prayers in 
ten different languages, including amongst them, even 
the Celtic of my native land ; and I could not help feel¬ 
ing I had some reason to be ashamed of being 
so much of “ a Saxon,” or, as Lord Monteagle would 
say, “ a west Briton,” as not to know one word of that 
language which these Armenian monks could translate 
and write. 

The palaces of Venice no longer contain the treasures 
and masterpieces of art, with which, in the days of 
her glory, they were adorned. Their naked walls have 
long since been stripped of the chef-cl'oeuvres of Titian, 
Tintoretto, and Veronese ; still, in the Ducal Palace, the 
gallery of the Academy of the Belle Arti, and in the 
Palazzo Manfrini, and Barbarigo, the lover of painting 
will still find some of the noblest productions of the 
Venetian school. We paid repeated visits to these 
places, and always with increased gratification ; and, 
with respect to the ducal palace, it must be admitted, 
to the credit of the Austrian government, it has gratified 


VENICE. 


175 


the just pride of the Venetians, in leaving everything 
nearly in the same state as they existed in the days of 
the republic; every care is taken to preserve it from 
decay—it still retains all its ancient splendour—and, 
walking through its magnificent halls and salons, the 
traveller acknowledges that it is a palace worthy of 
the princes of a state, “ whose merchants were princes.” 
We daily paid it a visit during our stay in Venice, 
generally concluding our peregrinations by musing awhile 
in its silent corridors. In one of these, the grand cor¬ 
ridor, which runs the entire length of the building, the 
stranger’s attention is called to three small apertures— 
the dreaded “ Bocche de Lione,” or Lion’s Mouth, which 
communicated with the offices of the Three Inquisitors, 
and into which were put secret accusations; and on these 
marble slabs were formerly inscribed the directions, which 
it was necessary should be observed by the accuser— 
these were effaced by the French, at the extinction of 
the republic. This mode of secret accusation was not, 
however, confined to Venice ; it existed in the republic 
of Florence, under the name of “ Latamburagine,” from 
the stone chests called “ tamburi,” or drums, erected in 
certain appointed places in the city, and into which 
these accusations were dropped. The original object of 
this fearful institution was, to enable citizens to accuse 
magistrates and others, whom, from their station or 
power, they might fear to accuse openly; but it was 
soon perverted to the ends of private vengeance, and 
we are astonished to think the Italians could have so 
long endured the existence of such terrible tribunals; 
but it is curious to reflect, that free countries should 
have always shewn a desire to erect some such extra¬ 
ordinary tribunals, to protect their liberties from 
domestic treason. The practice we are considering 


17G 


VENICE. 


differs but little from the Ostracism of the Athenians ; 
the Romans, however, always required that the accused 
should be openly confronted with his accusers—of which, 
in the case of St. Paul, we have a memorable instance. 
In the great hall of the ducal palace is the great 
picture of “ Paradise,” by Tintoretto—the largest easel- 
painting, I believe, in the world; but the number of 
figures introduced, takes away from its effect, and gives 
it a confused appearance. 

Round the walls of this magnificent stanza are splendid 
paintings, by Paolo Veronese, representing some of 
the most remarkable events in the history of Venice; 
amongst others, that great event in her annals, one 
which the Venetians are so fond of recalling, the 
humiliation of Barbarossa ; and another of Catarina, 
the celebrated Queen of Cyprus, surrendering her 
crown into the hands of the Doge of Venice. No 
description can convey an idea of the vivid manner 
in which this great painter has brought before the 
eye, and perpetuated those glorious transactions; no¬ 
thing can be more glowing than the colouring, or 
gorgeous, than the costumes of the various groups. 
The series of paintings of the different doges, from 
the first down to the last, in their chronological order, is 
highly interesting. In the place of Marino Faliero, 
the stranger will observe the empty frame, with the 
black pall and inscription I have mentioned. Leaving 
the great hall, a passage leads up to the council 
chamber of “ the Ten,” and the chambers of the Three 
Inquisitors; and a stone staircase from these rooms 
down to the dungeons below the palace ; these were 
the ancient prisons used before the erection of the 
large building now called “ II Prigione,” and which is 
also connected with the palace by the celebrated “ Ponte 


VENICE. 


177 


(lei Sospiri,” or Bridge of Sighs. These prisons are 
twenty-four in number, and vary in size and light¬ 
someness ; the most confined and gloomy were used 
for refractory prisoners, who refused to confess. 

Most of those dungeons are cased with wood, a 
circumstance which preserves them (as a Venetian gen¬ 
tleman, who accompanied us, was careful to point out) 
from that dreadful dampness of which so much has 
been said, and of which, indeed, one of the unfor¬ 
tunate prisoners themselves (several of whose memorials 
still remain on the walls) feelingly complains. But 
the Venetians take every opportunity of discrediting, 
as calumnies or exaggerations, the horrible cruelties 
said to have been here inflicted by the Venetian senate 
on their miserable prisoners ; and, certainly, the prisons 
themselves are not so bad as they have been repre¬ 
sented ; they are not below water, as has been 
stated; and I am inclined to believe that many worse 
dungeons than these would have been found in the 
prisons of the United Kingdom, within comparatively 
recent times, for it was only of late years that the 
state of our prisons received the attention of the 
legislature. 

In the Manfrini Palace are some of the most 
admired and beautiful portraits of Giorgione; and 
the Palazzo Barberigo still contains some of the most 
celebrated works of his great rival, Titian. I admired 
most a painting of Venus at her toilet: here is, also, 
his last great work, the “ St. Sebastian,” left unfinished. 
It is melancholy to observe, that these fine paintings 
are much disfigured by time and neglect. 

We paid a visit to the Palazzo Mencenigo, to gratify 
our desire of visiting the residence of Byron, when in 
Venice; it is one of the best kept up of the Venetian 

i 2 


178 


VENICE. 


palaces, but possesses little beyond its connexion with the 
life of our great poet, to gratify the stranger’s curiosity. 
It is, however, interesting, as the palace of one of the 
greatest families in the days of the republic. We sent 
up our card to the countessa, and while waiting per¬ 
mission to see the palace, we observed, cut on a 
large stone in the cortile, a curious extract from the 
will of Cristofo Mellini, who forbids his heirs, under 
penalty of heavy fines (gradually increasing to ultimate 
forfeiture of all their rights under his will), from losing 
more, in one day, from gambling, than twenty-five ducats, 
as he attributes the decay of his house to the propensity 
of his family to this fatal passion. The sala contain 
several portraits of doges which this illustrious family 
have given to the republic; and turning from their 
ducal ancestors into another room, the eye reposes on 
the agreeable portrait of the present countess and her 
sister. They show the bed in which Byron slept, as 
well as the room w here he wrote. 

In the gallery of the Belle Arti, the lover of painting 
will find collected the greatest works of the Venetian 
school that Venice itself yet retains. This fine build¬ 
ing, and the care bestowed in the collection, are credi¬ 
table to the Austrian government. It is particularly 
rich in the works of Tiziano, Tintoretto, and Paolo Vero¬ 
nese ; amongst the principal and most admired works 
of the first-named master, is the “Assumption of the 
Virgin,” and a grand picture, representing “ Samuel 
presented to Eli”—a noble work of genius, whose 
colouring and design are alike magnificent. I also 
particularly admired, in the long narrow gallery, two 
portraits of Venetian senators, the one by Titian, marked 
1514, and the other by Tintoretto. 1 he large paintings, 
by Carpaccio and Gian Bellini, of the canals and 


VENICE. 


179 


palaces of Venice, crowded with gondolas, and filled 
with senators and noble dames, afford to the lovers of 
the costumes and habits of Venice in the olden times, 
a rich enjoyment. 

As I have before remarked, the Venetians are uni¬ 
versally and passionately fond of music, and concerts 
given in the day-time are the frequent points of reunion 
to the upper classes. During our stay in Venice, we 
attended several of these entertainments, and were 
charmed with the musical talents of the amateurs ; 
but, I confess, that we were proportionably disappointed 
with the performances of the opera. We went in our 
gondola, several times, to the Fenice, the principal 
theatre in Venice, and a beautiful edifice; but the 
actors, in point of talent, were far below those of many 
of the minor theatres of Italy. The house was badly 
attended, two-thirds of the boxes being empty; while 
the presence of soldiers, with fixed bayonets, in the pit, 
did not add to 'our enjoyment of the entertainments. 

We had now been upwards of a fortnight in Venice, 
and having visited nearly every object of interest, we 
began to turn our thoughts to our “ Bambini,” and 
Tuscan villa; indeed, with such ties, it was not sur¬ 
prising that we looked forward to returning to the 
vineyards and olive woods of the Val d’Arno with almost 
the feelings of “ Home.” We paid a farewell visit to 
the Arsenal, one of the most memorable localities of 
Venice, and made doubly interesting to Englishmen by 
the dramatic muse of their country. 

Amongst the most interesting objects it contains is 
a model of the “ Bucentaur,” which is all that Venice 
now possesses of it—for I do not believe a stick of 
the ancient vessel remains. There is, also, the magni¬ 
ficent state-galley, built expressly for Napoleon and 


ISO 


VENICE. 


Maria Louise, when they visited Venice together, 
during the splendid days of the Kingdom of Italy. 
The arms of the French hero are now replaced by the 
imperial scutcheon of the House of Austria. 

It is impossible to contemplate the extent of the 
arsenal of Venice,*' and to remember the early period 
when these magnificent basins were formed, without 
being forcibly impressed with her ancient maritime 
greatness. Long before the arrival of the French, how¬ 
ever, the naval power of Venice had fallen into de¬ 
crepitude, and the conquerors only found a few small 
vessels of war, and some shattered hulks in the arsenal. 
Still the naval valour of the Venetians did not depart 
altogether with their commerce. 

In one of the bravest and most obstinately con¬ 
tested actions in the last war—that in which the late 
Sir William Horte gained so much honour—and fought 
in the Adriatic, the commander of the French squadron 
was a Venetian, to whose valour and skilful conduct 
the gallant Sir William, himself, has borne the most 
honourable and generous testimony. 

At the present day, the small naval force of Austria 
is almost entirely drawn from Venice, and has been 
honourably distinguished on several recent occasions— 
particularly at the bombardment of Acre.f It is not, 
therefore, surprising, that Austria places so much im¬ 
portance on her possession of Venice. 

In the armoury of the arsenal are several beautiful 
suits of armour, highly interesting, from their con- 

* The above remarks are made, of course, without meaning to 
institute any comparison with modern dock-yards. 

f It is unnecessary to remind the historical reader, that some 
of the most distinguished generals of the Imperial armies have been 
Italians. 


VENICE. 


181 


nexion with the history of Venice, and the persons to 
whom they belonged. Amongst the rest, the visitor 
will be shown the armour of Henry IV. of France, 
presented to the Republic of Venice by that great 
monarch, as a mark of his affection ; also the armour 
of Francisco Duodo, so distinguished in the war 
of Cyprus, and at the battle of Lepanto ; as well as 
that of Carlo Zeno, equally distinguished in the war of 
Chiozza (1386), the most memorable, as well as perilous, 
in the annals of the republic. 

Late in the afternoon we took boat, and bade fare¬ 
well to the deserted palaces and' lonely canals of the 
“ brideless Queen of the Adriatic.” 

We kept silently looking back on the fading city, 
till, like the sun, it disappeared from our sight, in the 
waves from which it first arose in strength and beauty, 
invincible in the energy and daring valour of its in¬ 
habitants. 



182 


JOURNEY FROM VENICE TO PISTOJA. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


Badness of the Forage at Padua—The saying, that “ the eye of the Master makes the 
Horse fat,” holds everywhere—Este—Visit to Arqua—Petrarch, his Claims upon 
Posterity—His “ Rime”—His House—Ilis Tomb—Road from Este to Mantua— 
San Benedetta—Bad Government and miserable Condition of the People in the 
Modenese—Modena, brief Description of—The Duke of Modena—His unpopu¬ 
larity—The Revolution here in 1831—Duplicity of Louis Philippe and his Govern¬ 
ment—Claims of the Italian People upon the free Nations of Europe—Splendid 
Opera at Modena—Badness of the Road to the Tuscan Frontier—Pleasure at finding 
ourselves again in Tuscany—Arrival in Pistoja. 


I had left my horses under the care of an Italian 
servant at Padua, in excellent condition for travelling, 
during the fortnight we remained in Venice; but when 
we set out next day on our journey home, I was soon 
made to feel how much the poor beasts had lost, in 
being deprived of “ the eye of their master.” I fear 
they had got nothing in my absence but the infa¬ 
mous hay of Padua; they could scarcely drag the 
carriage along over the heavy sandy road to Mon- 
selice, and our minds became filled with melancholy 
anticipations of being altogether interrupted in our in¬ 
tended journey. I fairly lost my temper, and exhausted 
all my vocabulary of Tuscan complaints on the wretch¬ 
ed Gaspero ; the “ birbone,” however, bore it with 
wonderful philosophy, throwing all the blame on the 
forage of this “Maladetto paese,” as he called it; al- 


JOURNEY FROM VENICE TO PISTOJA. 


183 


though it seemed to have agreed with himself exceed¬ 
ingly well, he said it was altogether unreasonable for 
me to expect that Tuscan horses "would not suffer by 
the change to such a country, and thence took occa¬ 
sion to launch forth in praises of Tuscany, and ardent 
wishes to be speedily returned to it; in justice to the 
knave, it is, indeed, only fair to say, that the hay of 
Padua and Mestre (where it is usual for travellers 
going to Venice, to leave their horses) is of the very 
"worst description. On reaching Monselice, we almost 
determined to abandon our intended route to Pistoja, 
by Mantua and Modena, and return to Tuscany by the 
way -we came, as being so much shorter; but the de¬ 
sire to vary our journey proved so strong, that "we 
resolved to take chance, and so struck off on the road 
to Este. We had no occasion to repent our resolution; 
by care and management our horses plucked-up again, 
so that, "with a liberal allowance of good beans, they 
were at last enabled to get over thirty and forty miles 
a-day, "without “ trapello,”* even on the mountains 
of the Apennines, "where the soil is not at all favour¬ 
able. The roads in the Austrian states are excellent, 
and even in the territories of the Duke of Modena 
(the worst governed in Italy, if we except the States 
of the Church), the great military road between Man¬ 
tua and Modena, is one of the best in Italy; but this 
ducal tyrant is so much disliked by his wretched 
subjects, and so completely dependant on the support 
of Austria, that "we may well believe the excellent 
repair in "which the road is kept is dictated more 
by a regard for his own security, than from any no- 

* Trapello—relays of mules or bullocks, which are found at the foot of 
the mountains, to assist travellers ascending them. 


184 


JOURNEY FROM VENICE TO PISTOJA. 


bier or better motive. We stopped, early in the 
day, at Este, and determined to repose there for the 
night. Este has little to recall its historical celebrity, 
as the ancient seat of that illustrious family which 
has given so many princes to Italy and Germany, as 
well as sovereigns to England. The ruins of its an¬ 
cient castle, however, still exist, and will repay the 
visit of the traveller; we found a delightful employ¬ 
ment for the time we had to spare, by a visit to the 
celebrated hamlet of Arqua, the last residence of Pe¬ 
trarch, and where is preserved his honored tomb. To 
get to Arqua, however, we had to retrace a great 
part of the road to Monselice—the best point, indeed, 
to stop, for those who desire to visit it—although a 
pedestrian would find a far shorter and more direct 
way from Este on foot. There are few more seclu¬ 
ded places in the world than Arqua; for even the 
tide of modern travelling has turned aside, nor broken 
the peaceful quietude of this mountain village. It 
seems just the place that a man like Petrach, tired of 
the world, oppressed even with the glory with which 
his own genius had surrounded him, would select for 
retirement and repose; and here, indeed, convinced 
of the vanity of all human ambition, did this great 
poet, at the close of his life, but in the full zenith 
of his fame, prepare with solemnity “ to shuffle off 
this mortal coil,” and meet his God. The same syl¬ 
van scenery—the scented walks, shaded by the clear 
bright streams, that attracted the illustrious scholar 
from his cloistered study at Padua, still are there; 
and still the traveller beholds his humble dwelling, 
almost as he left it; while down below, the simple 
villagers show his tomb, and guard it with honest 
pride, as the greatest glory of their village. To this 


ARQUA. 


185 


place, “ piutosto tristo,” as his biographer styles it, 
did Petrarch retire, in the year 1370, not quite four 
years before his death ; and here did he ponder upon 
the course of his past life, and look forward 


44 To that bourne from whence no traveller returns.” 
c 

Some of the later of his celebrated sonnets, which 
are strongly devotional, tell us how painful were these 
solemn musings; but, alas ! what mortal could ever 
arise from such a review with satisfaction to himself? 
Like our own poet, he reproaches himself “ with wan¬ 
dering after love too far,” as if he, too, had felt— 


“ That talents made haply for pure and high designs, 

Were oft, like Israel’s incense, laid upon unholy, earthly shrines.” 


What a humiliating lesson on human aspirations ! What 
a solemn warning is conveyed to us in these confessions ! 
We might well suppose that self-examination, in the 
case of Petrarch, would have been a source of compla¬ 
cency—a life spent in the pursuit of knowledge, and 
the cultivation of letters, the noblest and most elevating 
of all human pursuits ; but, alas! how many have felt 
too late, that it is not these things “ that can bring a 
man peace at the last;” and, with the grave opening 
at their feet, have confessed all other wisdom “ foolish¬ 
ness,” but that which “ maketh wise unto salvation!” 
There is, indeed, something peculiarly solemn in these 
voluntary retirements of illustrious men from the world, 
which speak to us so strongly of the unsatisfying 
nature of all earthly enjoyments. To these quiet scenes 


186 


ARQUA. 


Petrarch, the glory of his age and country, retired, 
satiated with the applauses of the great and learned, and 
with a fame such as never, before or since, was accorded 
to any other man living. Here he lived and mused 
awhile, finding, as we may well believe, 

“ Books in the running brooks, 

Sermons in stones, and good in everything.” 

And here he died, or rather “ fell asleep,” yielding up 
his gifted spirit with a peaceful tranquillity, in harmony 
with the scenes that surrounded him. He was found 
dead, we are told, seated in his arm-chair, at his desk, 
with his beloved books around him; and thus, in gentle 
dignity, should a genius like his have passed away. 
It is to be feared that Petrarch is not sufficiently ap¬ 
preciated at the present day; owing to the extraordinary 
celebrity which his Rime have obtained, we confound 
amongst the Italian poets one of the greatest and most 
influential men of the age in which he lived. These 
celebrated Rime were only the recreation of his lighter 
hours, and little could he have deemed, that to them 
he should owe any part of his immortality. The 
labours of Petrarch were directed to the revival of classic 
learning in Europe, and to the regeneration of his own 
beloved Italy—he was not only the most learned man 
of the times in which he lived, but the very centre, 
round whom revolved, like “ lesser lights,” all the 
learned men of the age—he appears like the herald, 
preparing the way for that bright renewal of learning 
and science, which illuminated the world in the suc¬ 
ceeding century ; but this is not all—the friend and 
councillor of kings and popes, his love for Italian 


ARQUA. 


187 


liberty was still ever ardent and sincere; and if he 
could not remedy, earnestly and constantly strove to 
mitigate, the evils of his country. Such was Petrarch ; 
but, nevertheless, so strange and uncertain a thing is 
fame, that he is better remembered now, and will be, 
perhaps, for ever, as the lover of Laura—the enamoured 
poet who, on the banks of the Torga, formed and 
modulated anew the Tuscan tongue, to sing more 
sweetly the praises of his mistress. It is certainly to 
the romantic associations connected with Petrarch's 
love for Laura, that the secluded valleys of Vaucluse 
and Arqua are indebted for their celebrity; for it is 
to passages like these, in the lives of illustrious men, 
that mankind in general ever turn with the greatest 
interest and fondness—passages which excite the feelings 
and sympathies which we feel in common. 

The humble villagers of Arqua are not behind their 
countrymen in these feelings of veneration to departed 
genius, which I have mentioned as a strong characteristic 
of the Italians. They feel that their little hamlet has 
been glorified by the residence of Petrarch ; and have 
carefully preserved the house in which he dwelt, and 
some of the furniture which he used, to perpetuate 
the recollection of his residence amongst them. This 
house is small, even for Arqua—“ parva sed apta mihi,” 
was, I believe, the poet's own description of it. The 
apartments shewn as those which he occupied, are only 
two—a study, with a bedchamber, and a little closet. 
The first contains his bookcase, also very small, so that 
his library must have been more select than numerous 
—as, indeed, it might, I believe, be said of that of every 
true scholar. The arm-chair in which he died; his 
inkstand, and, though last not least, a skeleton of his 
favourite cat, the faithful companion of his retirement, 


188 


ARQUA. 


placed in a little marble niche over the narrow doorway 
of his study, complete the inventory. This singular 
relic bears the following Latin inscription, said to have 
been written by Petrarch himself:— 

“ Etruscus gemino vates exarsit am ore 

Maximus ignis ego, Laura secunclus erat 
Quid rides ? divine illam si gratia form® 

Me dignam eximio vatis amore tides 
Signabat. Genium sacris dedit ilia libellis 
Causa ego, ne ssevis muribus esca forent 
Arcebam sacro vivens a limine mures 
Ne Domini exitio scripta deserta donent 
Imago trepidis eadem defuncta pavorem 
Et vigit exanimi in corpore prisca tides.”* 

The walls are covered with the names (many of them 
illustrious) of those who have made pilgrimage here, to 
the shrine of genius; amongst others, those of Alfieri 
and Caesarotti, with appropriate poetical contributions. 
The tomb of Petrarch, a large sarcophagus of red marble, 
supported on pillars, is placed just outside the church. 
We were informed that it had been opened, a short time 
before our visit, when the skeleton of the poet was 

* Free translation of the Latin inscription beneath the skeleton of 
Petrarch’s cat:— 

“For Petrarch’s heart should e’er a contest rise, 

One half is mine, for th’ other Laura sighs— 

You smile, fair reader—pause, while I explain 
The several merits that we each can claim : 

Fair Laura’s beauty, and a form divine, 

Are hers,—a faithful term of service mine ; 

While Petrarch’s books her learned hours engage, 

My watchful eye defends each hidden page— 

And drives marauding mice beyond the doors, 

A jealous guardian of my master’s stores ; 

And still, though dead, my spectre lingers here, 

And still, my dreaded fangs and paws they fear.” 


All QUA. 


189 


found, quite perfect, as well as the ecclesiastical habit 
which enveloped it. They also tell a curious story (per¬ 
haps, however, it is only a revival, slightly varied, of the 
classical one) of a hive of bees having lately settled 
within the tomb, and made the cranium of the poet 
the receptacle of their mellifluous stores. I have no 
reason to disbelieve the story, and, it is so poetical that 
I would fain believe it. Having passed a pleasant day, 
in wandering amidst scenes which the glory of departed 
genius has made memorable, we bid adieu to the humble 
villagers, and quitted the hamlet of Arqua, retracing 
our way through the Eugean hills, on our road to Este. 
The next day we continued our route to Modena. The 
road is beautiful, winding through a rich and well-cul¬ 
tivated country, having the whole range of the Rhetian 
Alps, with their snow-clad summits, in the distance; 
at one point, near Nogaro, are distinctly visible, the 
Alps and the Apennines. The season of the silk-worm 
was just commencing, and the country-people as busily 
employed as with us in harvest-time. Men, women, and 
children, were all seen occupied (mounted on ladders), 
stripping the green leaves from the graceful mulberry, 
while others bore them away in sacks, to their houses, 
where the insects are deposited. The management of 
the silkworms is one of the most curious and interesting 
of agricultural occupations; and it is so little known 
to us, that an explanatory lesson, from an Italian con- 
tadini, would be to many, as it was to us, a pleasant 
as well as profitable lecture. Little does the fine lady 
deem of the care and labour which one of the least¬ 
valued of her silken dresses, has required in its produc¬ 
tion. 

We passed near the castle of Beve 1’Arqua, belong¬ 
ing to the countess of “ that ilk,” the head of the illus- 


190 


MANTUA. 


trious family of Drinkwater, who, among all the changes 
and vicissitudes consequent on the French Revolution, 
has still been allowed to retain some of her seignorial 
rights. Her dominions, we are told, are two miles in 
extent; and we were made to feel her sovereignity in 
the shape of toll, the demand for which, though un¬ 
supported by any great show of authority, my gallan¬ 
try to the beau sexe would not permit me to question. 
We passed through Mantua, where, however, we"; only 
remained a few hours to refresh our horses; and, in 
truth, there appeared little to induce us to delay there; 
it is a sombre, dull-looking town—its fortresses are im¬ 
posing, but its position, in the midst of a marsh, from 
which it derives its military importance, gives it an 
isolated and melancholy aspect; it is just the place 
that recalls all we have read of besieged cities, and all 
their attendant horrors, plague, pestilence, and famine; 
still it possesses some tine streets, and numerous, well- 
furnished shops, particularly those of the jewellers and 
silversmiths, who prepare the large and curious orna¬ 
ments with which the countrywomen adorn their heads. 

There is a numerous Jewish population in Mantua, 
who are said to be the direct descendants of the 
captives led into captivity by Vespasian and Titus, 
after the destruction of Jerusalem. 

The Bourgeoises wear the mantilla, and in other 
repects appear to me to have still a strongly Spanish 
character. We paid a hurried visit to the old palace, 
anciently the residence of the Gonzagu family, the 
ancient lords of Mantua, but now occupied by the 
Austrian governor. The Palazzo del Te, in the neigh¬ 
bourhood of Mantua, should be visited by the lover 
of painting, as it contains some magnificent frescoes 
by Giulio Romano. Nevertheless, Mantua has little 


MODENA. 


191 


but the memory of Virgil, and its military renown, to 
make it interesting. We crossed the Po at San Bene- 
detta, a small village, with a handsome church, and 
one huge building, formerly a convent, but now con¬ 
verted to secular purposes. Here, we are informed, 
were lodged some thousand Austrian troops, who, in 
1831, were marched down to Modena, to quell the 
revolution there. We slept at San Benedetta, and the 
next day proceeded on our journey, and soon entered 
the Modenese territory — our road, lying through a 
rich and well cultivated plain, with a fine prospect in 
the distance of the Apennines ; this is, indeed, the finest 
part of the duchy, which is very mountainous and 
woody, but the appearance of the peasantry is still 
very inferior to that of the poorest in Tuscany ; heavy 
taxes, and a jealous and oppressive government, mar 
the industry of the people, and frustrate the advan¬ 
tages which nature has so bountifully given them. 
The approach to Modena, by a very handsome bridge 
over the Secchia, is very fine, and the scenery, with the 
exception of the Apennines, reminded us of England; 
luxuriant meadows, divided by trim hedgerows, are 
pleasing, as well as novel features, in an Italian land¬ 
scape. We entered the town by a handsome gateway, 
and were not, I am bound to say, detained long, 
either about our passport or luggage—no small boon 
to weary travellers arriving in an Italian town. We 
put up at the Albergo Beale, a very large and com¬ 
modious hotel, patronised by the duke—indeed, con¬ 
ducted under the immediate direction of his highness, 
who owns everything it contains; this, according to 
our ideas, is rather a strange speculation for a sove¬ 
reign prince; but at Modena, the duke interferes with 
everything, and, in this instance, I am bound to say, 


192 , MODENA. 

that we found the advantage of such superintendence, 
in the cleanliness and comfort of the hotel, as well 
as in the moderate amount of the charges, which are 
upon a regular scale—the maitre d’hotel receiving a 
fixed salary, without reference to the profits of the 
concern, which is fortunate, as it did not appear very 
flourishing, no other guests having appeared at this 
great hotel during the time we stopped there. Mo¬ 
dena is a handsome town, well situated and healthy; 
the streets are clean and regularly built, with more 
of a German than an Italian aspect; but, although the 
residence of a sovereign prince, it has a triste and 
deserted appearance. 

The cathedral is a sombre and irregular pile of build¬ 
ing, of the age of the Lombards ; the only fine thing 
it contains, in the way of architecture, is a splen¬ 
did marble column, taken from an ancient temple of 
Diana, a few miles off; the nave of the church is nar¬ 
row and vaulted, and, what is singular, the high altar 
and choir are raised ten or twelve feet above the aisle; 
beneath the altar is the shrine of the patron saint of 
Modena, St. Gemignano. While I stood regarding those 
sacred relics with, perhaps, only a feeling of pity for the 
credulity of mankind, an old and venerable-looking pea¬ 
sant approached, and bending on one knee, leant for some 
time upon his staff in silent adoration and prayer ; the 
age, and patriarchial look of the old contadino, coupled 
with his attitude, at once so touching and simple, 
recalled to my mind the pictures of sacred history. 
There is something, indeed, extremely touching in the 
deep and earnest faith of the lower order of Roman 
Catholics, which we cannot help acknowledging, how¬ 
ever strongly we may dissent from and deplore, as in 
the present instance, the objects of it. 


MODENA. 


193 


The cathedral contains no paintings of any celebrity; 
they show one of “ The Presentation,” and ascribe it to 
Guido, but it is much to be doubted. 

From the cathedral we went to the palace, a very 
imposing and princely residence, indeed, so much so, 
that it seems hardly in keeping either within the town 
or duchy. Its facade is something in the style of the 
Tuilleries, and passing through the principal entrance, 
we enter a spacious and noble cortile, surrounded by 
handsome galleries ; the interior of the palace contains 
little that is remarkable ; there are, however, a few fine 
paintings, and some portraits of members of the ducal 
family, particularly those of the house of Este (of which 
now, by his maternal ancestors, the Duke of Modena 
is the head), which are interesting from their historical 
celebrity. 

The palace is unfinished, and likely to continue so ; for 
although the duke is said to be one of the wealthiest 
princes of Europe, the fate of his father, Hercules Reynal- 
dus III., who died an exile at Treviso, during the occupa¬ 
tion of the French, as well as the more recent events 
during his own reign, in 1831, have been calculated to 
warn him of the precarious tenure by which he holds 
his sovereign power. Unfortunately, he has omitted the 
only means of consolidating his rule—by gaining the af¬ 
fections of his subjects—and has preferred to place his 
reliance on the assistance of Austria. The Duke Francis 
is himself a member of the Imperial blouse of Austria, 
and married to a daughter of the King of Sardinia, 
he is thus, too, the brother-in-law of his neighbour, the 
Duke of Lucca. Indeed, it is a matter of policy with 
these Italian princes, to connect themselves thus closely, 
having the same common and hostile policy against their 
subjects. From all we heard while passing through his 


194 


MODENA. 


dominions, it would seem that the Duke of Modena is 
the most unpopular sovereign in Italy; he seems to regard 
his unhappy subjects as if they were the inhabitants of 
some conquered province, and himself as an Austrian 
governor, rather than their native prince and natural pro¬ 
tector. All the science of good government, in the esti¬ 
mation of his highness, consists in devising and levying 
contributions; and the only agents he employs are the 
soldier and the tax-gatherer. His tyrannical disposi¬ 
tion is said to be equalled only by his ignorance and 
obstinacy. His father’s exile, and the events that have 
passed around him, have all been lost on such a mind as 
his, and they tell some amusing stories at Modena, of 
the impotent rage he manifested on hearing of the revo¬ 
lution of July, and of his ridiculous threat, never to 
recognise the government of Louis Philippe. 

His apprehensions of that event were not without good 
grounds : goaded by oppression, and naturally encouraged 
by the hope of assistance from the new government of 
France, the people of Modena, in the spring of 1831, in 
common with the inhabitants of the Duchy of Parma 
and the Roman States, rose against their tyrants. The 
insurrection, or, rather, revolution at Modena was com¬ 
pletely successful ; the Duke fled, the inhabitants elected 
a provisional government, enrolled themselves in a na¬ 
tional guard, and maintained order and tranquillity for a 
month, during which they had undisputed possession of 
the capital. Indeed, it is a remarkable circumstance, and 
one that, in justice to the Italians, we should always 
remember, when treating of their political affairs, that 
they have almost uniformly succeeded in their rebellions 
against all the native power which their own government 
could oppose to them. r l hat their revolutions have been 
fruitless, has not been owing to any want of bravery or 


MODENA. 


195 


patriotism, but to the overwhelming military power of a 
foreign country, always on the watch, and ever prompt to 
crush the liberties of Italy. The finale of the revolution 
at Modena was just the same as at Naples, ten years 
before, when the king, after having sworn to the new 
constitution, which guaranteed a representative system of 
government, fled to Laybach, abjured the oath he had 
taken, invoked the aid of Austria, and returned to his 
capital, surrounded by 20,000 foreign bayonets. The 
Duke of Modena, imitating this kingly example, be¬ 
took himself to Mantua, and implored the aid of the same 
sympathising power—never appealed to in vain by out¬ 
cast royalty. He was soon enabled to return to Modena 
at the head of an Austrian force, that rendered vain all 
thoughts of resistance, and gave him the means of 
gratifying his vindictive feelings, as well as of gratifying 
his darling passion—avarice. The revolutign was now 

crushed, but the temperate and respectful demand of his 
subjects for a redress of their grievances, was treated as 
treason. The leaders in the late movement, by whose 
exertions alone the people were restrained from acts of 
violence, and public order preserved, were banished for 
life; their estates, of every kind, confiscated to the Duke, 
and Menolti, the chief of the provisional government, 
and one of the most respectable citizens of Modena, was 
put to death. His divine right being thus vindicated, the 
Duke resumed his favourite system of government, heed¬ 
less of the increasing number of empty palaces, which 
render still more melancholy the grass-grown streets of 
his capital. Thus has terminated (let us hope only for a 
time) the cause of constitutional liberty in Italy, in 31 
how different would have been the result, had the revolu¬ 
tion in France been allowed to take its natural course ; 
but Louis Philippe soon perceived that it was not his 


196 


MODENA. 


role to interfere either with Austria in Italy, or with Russia 
in Poland. Italy, and Modena in particular, of which the 
French had possession twenty-two years, had claims of the 
strongest kind on the sympathy and support of France; but 
what availed considerations such as these, when balanced 
against the individual selfishness of an usurper, made 
great only to betray. The people of Italy require not the 
assistance of French bayonets to aid them in overthrowing 
their tyrants, and regaining their liberty; broken and 
divided as they are, they have always had power enough 
for that. They only claim the right, which belongs to 
every nation, and which has been conceded by Europe to 
Spain, Portugal, and Belgium, of settling their own internal 
affairs ; they require but to be left to themselves, and that 
their soil should not be invaded by a foreign army, at every 
call of their domestic tyrants. The power that will secure 
them this advantage will be hailed as the best ally of Italy : 
and surely there can be no nobler cause than that of assist¬ 
ing to restore the liberties of a country, to which, in com¬ 
mon with all Europe, we are so largely indebted, and from 
which we have derived, if not our freedom, at least much 
of our boasted constitution. 

The example of the free republics of Italy was not 
lost upon Europe; they kept alive the sacred flame 
of liberty during the long night of barbarism and ig¬ 
norance of the middle ages; and elevated the name 
of citizen, when feudal tyranny had reduced all Europe 
to a state of common servitude. The Italian repub¬ 
lics encouraged men to associate together in burghs 
and municipal bodies, by which they were, at length, 
enabled to resist the tyranny of the most powerful 
princes ; and it is remarkable, that many of the most 
distinguished champions and leaders in the cause of 
freedom in England, in the time of Charles I., and 


MODENA. 


197 


at the revolution, had travelled in Italy, and atten¬ 
tively studied the history and constitution of the Italian 
republics. 

But whatever may be the result of these struggles 
(and for myself, I am convinced of their ultimate 
success), and the events of 1831, the blood so pro¬ 
fusely shed in the cause of freedom in Italy and Po¬ 
land, will not have been in vain, if the people of 
those countries have been warned of the fatal danger 
of relying on the support of other nations, or the 
promises of kings and statesmen. In union and self- 
reliance, and in their own determination and perseve¬ 
rance, a people worthy of liberty must depend for 
success; without these elements in a country, the 
cause of freedom is doubtful, if not hopeless; but 
with them, it is certain to triumph. 

* 

“ For freedom’s battle once begun, 

Bequeathed from bleeding sire to son, 

Tho’ baffled oft, is ever won.” 

The dulness of Modena, and the silence of its streets, 
broken only by religious processions, and the ringing 
of the church bells—the general, and frequently almost 
only indication of life in an Italian town—would be 
insupportable, even to the duke himself, were it not 
for the opera, which, it is only fair to say, is splen¬ 
didly maintained by his highness; it is a beautiful 
edifice, and .admirably arranged, in point both of ele¬ 
gance and comfort; the price of the tickets is sc 
moderate as to place this most refined of all enjoy¬ 
ments within the reach of even the humblest citizens 
of Modena; the corps dramatique was far above the 
average—the singing very good, and the orchestra mag- 


198 


MODENA. 


nificent; yet the house was badly attended, and more 
than half of the magnificent tiers of boxes quite empty; 
like the Albergo Reale, the opera must also be a very 
great drag on the revenues of his highness, but the 
cruelty and misgovernment that have banished so many 
of his native subjects, are as little calculated to invite 
the residence of foreigners; and it is striking, that 
while the neighbouring capital of Tuscany is crowd¬ 
ed with strangers from every country in Europe, we 
did not hear of a single foreign family residing in 
Modena; and yet it is a beautiful town, the residence 
of a sovereign house, the centre of a rich and abun¬ 
dant country; but, alas! the blight of misgovernment 
is upon it, and distrust and bitterness within its dwel¬ 
lings. Having passed two days at Modena, with an 
increasing desire to get into our summer quarters, we set 
out for Pistoja. This part of our journey was rather 
severe and disagreeable ; our road * lay over some of 
the steepest mountains of the Apennines, and while 
in the Modena territory, which was the greater part 
of the journey, it was infamous ; the people seemed 
nearly as wretched, having little to subsist on but bread 
made from the chesnuts, which was bad as well as dear. 
Madame Starke, the only guide-book which, unfortu¬ 
nately, we had with us, had led us, by her glowing 
account, into these rugged defiles, out of which it 
was only by extraordinary good fortune that, without 
dislocation of our bones or carriage springs, we ever 
escaped. This road must, indeed, be greatly changed 
from what it was when Madame Starke traversed it; 
or madame was, perhaps, in that complacent and happy 
frame of mind, when we are disposed to praise and 
admire everything, having, probably, prepared herself 
for encountering this road in the same way that she 


MODENA. 


199 


recommends her readers, when passing through the 
tunnel at Posilipo, or when inhaling the mephitic va¬ 
pours of the ruins of Pestum. 

We found no relays of oxen to assist our horses in 
climbing the mountains, as on the more frequented routes, 
and altogether, had they not been active and hardy 
beasts, with a very light carriage, and scarcely any 
luggage, I do not think we should have succeeded so 
well in crossing this part of the Apennines. We at 
length reached the apex of the mountains, and arrived 
at Bettona, the Tuscan frontier; even in this wild 
ruin, the change for the better, both in the road and 
appearance of the people, was as observable as that 
which I have before said I remarked, in crossing from 
the Papal States into Tuscany, on my return from 
Rome. I was not, therefore, surprised when Gaspero, 
with a national vanity which might well be pardoned, 
taking off his hat, exclaimed, u Grazia a Dio Siamo in 
Tuscania,” and, jumping from the box, was soon pouring 
into the willing ears of the sympathising Doganaieri, 
his comments on the “ paese maladetto,” and “ la gente 
miserabile,” which it had been his misfortune to en¬ 
counter. Our horses were so done up, in labouring 
up the mountains, that, although the road from Bettona 
to San Marcella was an almost continuous descent, 
we found it impossible to reach the comfortable locanda 
of that retired and beautiful village, before nightfall, and 
were therefore fain to put up at the humble capanna , 
situated in one of the loneliest places in the Apennines, of 
a poor contadino; but we had already lived sufficiently long 
in Tuscany, to appreciate the integrity and simple virtues 
which distinguish his class ; and it was therefore with 
a sense of perfect security and confidence that we reposed 
under his humble roof. Early next morning we set 


200 


MODENA. 


out for Pistoja, stopping to take our “ merenda” at San 
Marcella, which is beautifully situated in a lonely 
valley, amidst woods and fields, whose greenness rivals 
that of the Emerald Isle, rendering it a delightful residence 
during the heat of an Italian summer. Everything 
about San Marcella indicates prosperity and content¬ 
ment ; and not only is agriculture successfully cultivated, 
but a large paper manufactory has been established here, 
which largely adds to the industrial means of the peo¬ 
ple. We arrived early in the afternoon in the old 
republican town, the head quarters of the memorable 
factions of the Bianchi and Neri, which we had chosen 
for our residence. Nothing can be conceived more 
beautiful than the glorious view of the unrivalled 
Val d’Arno, as seen in descending from the mountains 
over Pistoja. The summer was but just begun, yet 
already, in this teeming land, the corn stood almost 
ready for the sickle ; and wherever the eye turned, it 
was gladdened with the sight of all the fruits of the 
earth, in rich maturity and abundance; it was a sight, 
indeed, to gladden the heart of man, and to fill him 
with fervent gratitude to the beneficent Author of his being 
—the bountiful Creator of all good. Our hearts partook of 
the joyful aspect of nature, and warmed with the ex¬ 
pectation of soon embracing those who made that land so 
dear to us ; and, leaving our carriage and wearied horses 
therefore at the Hotel de Londra, we set out, shortly 
after our arrival, for Florence, and next day returned 
from thence with our family, and took up quarters in the 
villa Colle Gelato. 


PISTOJA. 


201 


CHAPTER XV. 


Brief Description of Pistoja—Our Villa—Absence of English Society and “ English 
Comforts” compensated for—Agriculture—This part of Italy an Argument iu 
favour of Small Farms—The Metaric System—Industry of the Tuscan Peasantry— 
The Pistojese—Dante’s Unfavourable Character of them—Church of the Madonna 
d’Umilta—Tradition, that “ the Real Corinna was a Native of Pistoja”— 
Hospitals—Their Praiseworthy and Admirable Management—Religious Devotions 
of the Pistojese—Processions and Ceremonies—Hymns of the Contadini—Festa 
della Spiga—A Harvest Home—Painful Interruption of our Tranquil Mode of 
Life—Departure from Pistoja. 


Time has wrought but little change, at least in the 
character of this ancient Tuscan city, which still presents 
to us the model of an Italian town, during the middle 
ages; its Piazza, Cathedral, and Palazzo Publico, all 
exist, as in the last days of this little republic, before 
it was extinguished by the jealousy and ambition of its 
more powerful neighbour. Since then, Pistoja has only 
passively followed the fortunes of her rival, and from 
a great and flourishing city, the centre of a powerful 
community, has become a poor and deserted provincial 
town ; the same nakedness and shrinking in from the 
wide-extended walls, which mark the limits of the ancient 
town, while indicating the decay of the modern, and which I 
have observed upon when speaking of Pisa, is more striking 
in Pistoja, the present population of which, indeed, 
does not amount to one tenth of the number of its in¬ 
habitants during the middle ages; but, although we 

k 2 


202 


PISTOJA. 


may regret this vacancy, caused as it has been by the 
disappearance of the abodes of commerce and industry, 
yet, in point of beauty and health (as this great space 
within the Avails is noAV occupied by gardens and vine¬ 
yards), the effect is, perhaps, more agreeable than 
melancholy—a beautiful avenue of acacia trees, within 
the walls, affords an agreeable promenade, and as Pistoja 
is overlooked by one of the finest and most picturesque 
ranges of the Apennines, there are few towns that from 
within themselves command more agreeable or delightful 
prospects. Though situated in the plain, its Avide streets, 
and immediate proximity to the mountains, render it a 
very cool and healthy residence, during the summer; 
and as it is situated in the midst of a cheap and abun¬ 
dant country, I am surprised that it is not more 
frequented by strangers; but those Avho migrate from 
Florence usually limit themseh r es to Siena or Lucca, 
and, no doubt, to those Avho desire society, those 
places have far greater attractions than Pistoja, or 
its neighbourhood; besides, as to our countrymen, 
the Englishmen are, par excellence, the most gregarious, 
if not the most social of travellers; and feAv of our 
countrymen are bold enough to venture upon the heresy 
of straying out of the beaten track. Great Avas the 
astonishment expressed by some of our friends, Avhen Ave 
announced to them our intention of passing the summer 
in a villa at Pistoja—Avhat a strange idea! How Avas it 
possible to get on?—there Avas no English doctor—no 
English reading-room—no English grocer—it Avould be 
impossible to supply ourselves with antibilious pills, or 
with Souchong, Stilton cheese, or Guinness's stout; noAV 
all these advantages and comforts Avere to be had at 
Lucca or Siena, coupled Avith the advantage of constant 
English society, and English tea-parties. Our kind 


PISTOJA. 


203 


friends could hardly be made to understand that a 
large airy house, and beautiful scenery, with our own 
family, amply compensated us for the loss of the En¬ 
glish society of the Bagni di Lucca, where we should 
have been obliged to put up with a miserable apart¬ 
ment. To those w r ho, having arrived in a strange 
country, are desirous of improving themselves in its 
language, in which, following the advice of Lord 
Bacon, they have already “ some entrance,” as well as 
to acquaint themselves with the manners and customs 
of the people amongst whom they are dwelling, study 
and, perhaps, to a certain degree, retirement from the 
society of their own country people, is necessary ; but 
in Italy, above all other countries, this is doubly so, 
if the traveller desires to carry away with him any 
lasting benefit from his visit to this land of historical 
and classic reminiscences. What occupations can be 
more instructive and delightful than the history and 
poetry of Italy, and nowhere can they be better studied 
than in the mountains near Pistoja. I had, moreover, 
a practical object in selecting a villa in this neigh¬ 
bourhood for our summer residence. Interested in land 
myself, I was desirous of studying the Tuscan system 
of agriculture, and of observing the practical working 
of the metaric tenure, established in this country by 
the Grand Duke Leopold, afterwards Emperor of Ger¬ 
many. The Italians themselves say that Italy is the 
garden of the world, and Tuscany the garden of Italy ; 
this must apply, as I have already observed, to the 
superior cultivation of Tuscany, for in general its soil is 
inferior to that of the other provinces; but the saying 
applies, in its fullest sense, to the delightful plain of 
which Florence and Pistoja terminate the extremes. 
From the balcony of our villa (built, as usual, on a steep 


204 


PISTOJA. 


and sudden eminence) we enjoyed a prospect, such as, 
perhaps, no other country in the world could present. 
Enclosed by mountains, this happy and fertile region is 
everywhere studded with hamlets and picturesque farm¬ 
houses, whose white walls peep forth from the olive 
woods, or gleam in the sunshine, contrasting with the 
sombre hue of the tall cypress trees that surround 
them—grain crops and vegetables of every kind, fruits, 
but above all the vine, in wonderful profusion, spring, 
with prolific abundance, from this rich and teeming earth; 
two crops of grain, in the same season, repay the 
toil of the husbandman, who in his turn, by a per¬ 
severing and admirable industry, shews his gratitude 
for the bounties of nature, by the admirable cultivation 
of his farm. Tuscany, and this part of it in particu¬ 
lar, affords strong argument in favour of small farms, 
and against the engrossment system, now so general 
in England, and the application of which to Ireland 
is causing so much outrage and discontent. If we 
are to believe the poet— 

il A time there was, ere England’s griefs began, 

When every rood of ground maintained its man. 

But, although I am of opinion that large farms, when the 
farmer is possessed of adequate capital, are more favorable 
to improvements in agriculture, and, still more, in the 
raising and feeding of stock, it may well be doubted, 
whether, with a dense population, as in England, it is 
desirable or safe to deprive the great bulk of the people of 
all direct title or interest in the soil. 

The proper extent of every farm must depend upon the 
nature of the soil, the system of husbandry, and the con¬ 
dition of the people. It is impossible, therefore, to lay 


PISTOJA. 


205 


down general rules ; but having said that Tuscany pre¬ 
sents a strong argument in favour of the small farm 
system, it is right that I should also mention how different 
is the soil, the plan of tillage, as well as the habits and 
diet of the people. Our soil, so much colder and heavier, 
not only requires draining and deep ploughing, but fal¬ 
lowing. These operations require that the farm should be 
of adequate extent, and horses are so necessary that we 
regulate their number by the extent of our farm ; but 
here in this part of Tuscany, the hoe and the spade do 
the work of the plough—the rich and mellow earth requires 
no fallowing—while their system of house-feeding supplies 
them with abundant manure, and their mountain streams 
afford them the ready means of irrigation, which they 
carefully avail themselves of. The Metaric system, intro¬ 
duced into this part of Italy by the Arch-Uuke Leopold, 
afterwards Emperor of Germany, one of the greatest 
reformers of modern times, and to whom Tuscany owes so 
much, was a heavy blow to the nobility and landed pro¬ 
prietors ; it gave, however, an extraordinary impetus and 
encouragement to the industry of the farmers ; but, like all 
direct interferences with the rights of property, it was 
accompanied by many evils. Notwithstanding the severe 
laws against fraud and embezzlement, it rendered both the 
one and the other at once too tempting to be resisted, 
and too easy to be practised; it has, therefore, been gradual¬ 
ly modified. It is varied by special contracts, and, indeed, 
it is only in the absence of such agreements that this tenure, 
the common law of Tuscany, comes into force. Every 
proprietor I have spoken to, has complained of the system; 
and, certainly, a render of only half of the produce, even 
when honestly made, does not appear a sufficient one to the 
landlord, who is bound not only to maintain the farm¬ 
steading, but even to stock the farm. To the working of 


206 


PISTOJA. 


such a system, accurate public surveys are absolutely neces¬ 
sary, and these the Tuscan government have been careful 
to supply; but, with every aid, it has not been found 
successful, even in Tuscany. Such a system is manifestly 
inapplicable to a large and powerful state, and would not 
be tolerated in a free country; and the introduction of 
this system in Tuscany, largely increased that estrange¬ 
ment and distaste to the country, and agricultural pursuits, 
common to the Tuscans as well as all Italians. A “ vil- 
legiatura” of a month or six weeks, is the utmost extent 
of their acquaintance with their contadini, who are 
consigned for the rest of the year to the surveillance of the 
“Fattore del podere,” whose watchfulness or remissness to 
his duty, it is to be feared, is rather measured by the 
“ regalo,” or bribe, of the farmer, than a regard for the 
interest of his master. Yet nowhere do a country-life 
and agricultural pursuits exhibit so many charms, or so 
much of that graceful simplicity which we love to associate 
with it, but which we only read of in the Arcadian scenes 
of the pastoral poets. In Tuscany, and in this favoured 
part of it in particular, the population seem in harmony 
with the beautiful country they inhabit, as well as the 
land they cultivate—now turning the soft and mellow 
earth with their yoke of milk-white oxen, irrigating or 
hoeing their “ legume,” or pruning and training their 
vines. The men are seen daily occupied in constant but 
easy labours, which sweeten rest without exhausting life, 
while the women occupy themselves with the household 
cares, spinning or tending the silk-worms; or groups of 
them may be constantly seen standing at their doors, 
platting that delicate and beautiful straw, which, made into 
bonnets, has become such a celebrated article of Tuscan 
commerce. They are singularly graceful in their persons 
and deportment, and these advantages they are careful to 


PISTOJA. 


207 


heighten in their dress and in the becoming neatness of 
their costume. 

The term “ gentilezza,” used by the Italians to 
characterize the Florentines, may in general be applied to 
all the Tuscan women; men and women, they are a 
peculiar people, and not to be indiscriminately confounded 
with the other inhabitants of the Italian peninsula. 

The Tuscan character retains, perhaps, more of its 
simple and original simplicity in the neighbourhood of 
Pistoja than anywhere else in Tuscany; and he who 
is desirous of studying it in its purity, will seek it 
here. French tastes and fashions have been so long 
dominant at Florence, that they have not only affected 
the habits of the Florentines, but even changed, in a 
great many respects, the national character of the 
Tuscans in the Val d’Arno; but in the neighbourhood 
of this old republican town, we find the manners and 
customs of the people but little changed from what 
they were in the days of their Podesta and Gonfalo- , 
nieri. When speaking, however, in praise of the peo¬ 
ple of this part of Tuscany, I would wish to be un¬ 
derstood as speaking only of the contadini, or country 
people, and not, properly, of the Pistojese themselves; 
for I regret to say, that my short acquaintance with 
the citizens of Pistoja, rather confirmed the very un¬ 
favourable character which Dante gave of them, not¬ 
withstanding his friendship for their illustrious fellow- 
citizen, Cino da Pistoja; but I would rather account 
for the unTuscan-like rudeness of the Pistojese by 
other reasoning, than by attributing it to the influence 
of race; they claim, indeed, an ancient but certainly 
not a very illustrious origin, and are said to be the 
descendants of the desperate and motley associates of 
Catiline, the conspirator. We are informed by the 


208 


PISTOJA. 


Roman historians, that Catiline and his nefarious band 
were overthrown in “ the plains of Feesulse,” under 
which, we may believe, they comprehended the coun¬ 
try stretching from the mountains about Pistoja to 
the neighbourhood of Florence; but the Pistojese seem 
(strange enough) to be anxious to appropriate the 
glory to themselves, of having given an asylum to 
the traitor, for they have called one of their streets 
“ la tomba di Catilinabut after all, where lies the 
difference between Catiline and his associate and fel¬ 
low-conspirator, Julius Csesar? in nothing but in the 
success of the latter. They both conspired to destroy 
the liberties of their country, and both were equally 
abominable in their lives ; but failure in one consigned 
his head to the “infernal gods/’ and his memory to 
everlasting infamy, while the successful treason of his 
fellow-conspirator, and the base homage of mankind, 
raised the other to the empire of the world, and 
mingled his name amongst the stars of heaven. So 
went the world, eighteen hundred years ago, and the 
old couplet of Hudibras, and our daily experience, 
prove it, alas! the same to-day. There are neither 
churches nor galleries in Pistoja to occupy the at¬ 
tention of the stranger; its cathedral and baptistry, 
or, rather, the latter on a small scale, recall those of 
Siena; indeed, the form and plans of the baptistries 
of Florence, Pisa, Siena, and Pistoja, are the same. 
The church of the Madonna d’Umilta is the hand¬ 
somest church in Pistoja, and is a fine edifice, crown¬ 
ed with a beautiful dome and lantern; it contains 
some good statues, and a few tolerable paintings. The 
old cicerone of Pistoja (by the way, quite an original 
character) used to show us a laurel crown, hanging 
near the altar, and tell us it was that used at the 


PISTOJA. 


209 


coronation of Corinna, in the Campidoglio ; for Corinna, 
according to him, was a native of Pistoja; but as the 
worthy little man seemed only too anxious to claim 
all that was distinguished for his native place, I be¬ 
lieve Corinna and her birth-place must remain in the 
mystery that the Italians and even Madame de Stael 
have left it, “ Stat nominis umbra.” 

It is only justice to Pistoja, to say, that it contains 
several fine hospitals, where the sick and necessitous 
are relieved, with a charity and zeal highly creditable 
to the Pistojese. Amongst the most remarkable of 
those institutions is a large Foundling Hospital; an 
aperture near the gate to receive the poor little stranger, 
and a bell to announce its presence, affords a resource 
to misery, and an escape from shame. 

It is said that these institutions act as an encourage¬ 
ment to immorality; but, even admitting this, when 
we think for a moment on the frightful crime which 
they prevent, the lesser evil vanishes in the compari¬ 
son. The laws of society, both written and unwritten, 
are already sufficiently severe upon women; their errors 
are visited with humiliations and punishments, even 
that seem to exceed the offence; for, although, we 
should guard against an evil so detrimental to our 
social happiness, as want of chastity in women, we 
should be careful not to impel them, by over strin¬ 
gency, to far greater crimes, and are bound to provide a re¬ 
medy for the evils which are in a great degree consequent 
upon the artificial circumstances of an advanced state of ci¬ 
vilization. These institutions have been too rashly abolished 
in England, and the result is, an increase in the crime 
of infanticide, which it is horrible to comtemplate. 
The new provisions of the law, as to the affiliation of 
natural children, have also aggravated this dreadful 


210 


PISTOJA. 


feature of our criminal returns ; but it would, in my 
opinion, be a much wiser and safer course, to re-es¬ 
tablish the Foundling Hospitals on a better footing, 
than to have recourse again to the old law of affiliation, 
which not only acted as a direct encouragement, but 
as a bonus to immorality, at the same time that it 
led to the most profligate and wide-spread perjury. 
These hospitals of Pistoja, in common with those of all 
Tuscany, are admirably managed; the attendance of 
the sick, and the administering to their ills, both 
temporal and spiritual, form the most active duties of 
the different religious orders; and this example on 
the part of the clergy is imitated by the devout 
laity, who assist in these “labours of love,” which 
are as honorable to their religion, as they are useful 
to poor suffering humanity. Why is it, again I would 
ask, that we only witness these scenes in Roman 
Catholic countries ? Cannot we strike out some ma¬ 
chinery consistent with our Protestant principles, that 
would be equally effective in relieving the distressed, 
and inculcating our religion ? or must we submit to 
the reproach, that our purer form of Christianity can¬ 
not induce Protestants to make the sacrifices which 
Roman Catholics are everywhere seen to make, for 
the sake of their religion ? It is idle to try to explain all 
this, by saying that their religion is a religion of works— 
ours of faith, for we know that “ faith without works 
is dead.” The facade of one of the hospitals of Pistoja 
exhibits a group of figures, the finest specimen of the 
curious enamel painting of “ Luca della Roba. 

Pistoja, as may be supposed, is a very dull place ; 
indeed, I hardly know how its inhabitants could get 
through the year, were it not for the number of festivals 
and processions with which they relieve the tedium of 


PISTOJA. 


211 


their lives. These constantly-recurring festivals are cele¬ 
brated with much pomp—all classes, rich and poor, old 
and young, take part in the procession. Some, having 
donned the habit of their favourite “ fraternita,” with 
their faces concealed in a cowl that allows only their 
eyes to be seen, mingle among the friars—others carry 
the banners of the saints; while the most worshipful of 
the citizens consider it a high honor when chosen to 
support the gorgeous “ baldachino” itself. The contadini 
or peasantry about Pistoja are, if possible, still more 
devoted to their religion. Every turn of a road ex¬ 
hibits the cross, with all the fearful accompaniments of 
the crucifixion—the scourge, the nails, the spear; while 
the fields and vineyards are protected by rustic chapels 
and altars dedicated to the Virgin. Round these the 
young of both sexes are accustomed to assemble of an 
evening and sing hymns. Nothing can be conceived 
more striking or pleasing than the effect of their blended 
voices, when heard at a distance amidst all the beauty 
of an Italian sunset; and often have we sat in the balcony 
of our villa, listening to the strain as it came wafted 
from the olive-woods and vineyards beneath us, and 
felt, as we surveyed the earth and sky above us, and 
inhaled the soft balmy breeze which seemed to invite 
to love and rapture, that it was hardly to be wondered 
at if the religious worship of the Italians was of so 
passionate and sensual a character. Some of these 
hymns were remarkable, as conveying the religious feel¬ 
ings of the Tuscan peasantry. The most popular was 
a hymn in praise of the cross— 

“ Evviva la croce, 

La croce viva, 

Evviva la croce, 

E chi l’esalto”— 


212 


PISTOJA. 


chaunted to a monotonous and melancholy air; but very 
frequently the hymn assumed a softer and more pathetic 
tone, as the subject afforded a theme more congenial to 
the Italian character. The flight into Egypt, the dialogue 
between Jesus and the woman of Samaria at the well, 
and the story of Mary Magdalene, are the favourite 
subjects of these hymns, or canzonette, for so they are 
entitled. What I have preserved of the following will 
give the reader an idea of their general character. It 
purports to he the dialogue between Jesus and the Sa¬ 
maritan woman :— 

“ Ge _Sono giunto stanco e lasso, 

Dal mio lungo caminar, 

Ecco il pozzo e questo e il sasso 
Per potermi riposar. 

Qui mi fermo, giu. vi aspetto 
Una donna ha da venir 
O bel fonte! e fonte eletto, 

L’Alma fida a convertir— 

Peccorella gia smarrita 
Dal ovil cerando va, 

Ma ben presto convertita 
A1 pastor ritornera.” 

The woman arrives, and the hymn proceeds according 
to the Scripture narrative. When the Saviour tells her 
to go and call her husband, her reply is very charac¬ 
teristic— 


“ Il marito guardi il cielo 
Sono libera di me!” 

Finally, she devotes herself to the Saviour, who thus 
receives her:— 

“ Ge.—V i gradisco, si vi accetto, 

Sia gi accetto il vostro amor, 


PISTOJA. 


213 


E gradito, e sol diletto 
Esser vuol del vostro amor. 

Sa—S i! sacrete sposo mio. 

Ge. —Sposa voi sacrete a me. 

Sa.—T o in voi. 

Ge—E d in voi io. 

Sa.—E serberemo eterna fe.” 

But it is in their hymns in praise of the Virgin that all 
the passionate tenderness of the Italian character breaks 
forth. In her they worship not only the beautiful itself, 
but that which is most lovely on earth, female beauty 
and maternal love ; and equally in these rustic hymns, 
or the elegant sonnets of their classic poets, “ Maria 
Vergine’* is ever the most beloved object of their adora¬ 
tion and rapture:— 

“ Donna del cielo, gloriosa madre 
Del buon Gesu, la cui sacrata morte 
Per liberarci dalle infernale porte 
Tolse 1’ error del primo nostio padre ; 

Risguarda amor con saette aspre e quadre 
A che strazio n’ adduce ed equal sorte; 

Madre pictosa a noi cura consorte 
Ritramne dal sequir sue turbe e squadre.” 

This beautiful address we find amongst the remains of 
Fra Guiltone d’ Arezzo, one of their oldest and most 
esteemed poets; and in this respect the Italians have 
undergone no change ; they are still as remarkable as 
ever for the extent to which they carry the worship of 
the Virgin mother; their poets and painters still find 
in the Madonna the finest as well as the most popular 
subject for their genius—one that unites to religious 
veneration for the divine nature all that is most tender, 
affecting, and beautiful in our own. While living in 


214 


PISTOJA. 


the Villa Colle Gelato, we had the pleasure of taking 
part in one of the most interesting festivals of the neigh¬ 
bourhood, La Festa della Spiga, annually held in the 
beautiful grounds of our neighbour, the Count Pucini, 
whose public spirit and munificence have done so much 
for Pistoja and the neighbouring country. This festival 
lasts a week, and, as its name implies, is something 
equivalent to our harvest home in a more enlarged 
sense, for it is a public fete , which embraces pro¬ 
prietors as well as tenants. While nothing was omitted 
to render the entertainment brilliant and agreeable, the 
higher and more useful objects connected with such a 
festival were not lost sight of. There was an agricultural 
cattle show, at which valuable prizes were given by Count 
Pucini for the best specimen of the different kinds of 
stock, on the principle of our agricultural societies, as 
well as for inventions and improvements in agricultural 
implements ; and though the exhibition could not furnish 
the unwieldy monsters of fat horned-cattle, over which our 
English farmers glory, yet I am bound to say there were 
oxen there (particularly that beautiful, cream-colored 
breed, “ the milk-white steer,” for which Tuscany is 
celebrated) which for beauty and symmetry would have 
charmed the eye even of old Coke of Norfolk himself. 
It is right for me to add that the religious feelings and the 
gratitude that should be ever associated with such a 
season, when man meets “ to make merry,” and to rejoice 
vat having gathered in the fruits of the earth, were not 
left without expression ; indeed the ceremony was as much 
intended to be a religious celebration as a public festival ; 
all the clergy of the neighbourhood were invited; there 
was a solemn “ Rendimento di grazia,” for the divine 
blessing which had crowned their “ Raccolta,” while one 
of the most eloquent preachers of Pistoja delivered a 


PISTOJA. 


215 


fine and appropriate sermon on the occasion. Perhaps, 
one could have wished this discourse to have been 
more evangelical and less philosophical, but still the 
intent was there, the spirit of thankfulness and praise to 
God for his mercies ; and the unanimous public display of 
the sentiment was equally striking and affecting. Nothing, 
indeed, is more striking in the national character and habits 
of the Italians, than this constant mingling of religious rites 
and feelings in their public shows and entertainments, as 
well as in all their seasons of recreation ; but this obser¬ 
vance, which, if properly regulated, would be deserving, 
not only of commendation, but imitation, has subjected 
them to much irony and ridicule, and Goldsmith wittily 
reproaches them with their 

“ Processions formed for piety or love— 

A mistress or a saint in every grove,” 

and it cannot be denied that in these festivals there is 
often much that is grotesque and incongruous. It was 
amusing, for example, to witness the burly friars, in their 
coarse black and brown dresses bound with the cord of 
St. Francis, sipping the Count Pucini’s ices, and listening 
to the most beautiful and melting strains of Kosini or 
Donnizetti. It is not surprising that amid such scenes, 
and under the influence of this soft delicious climate, the 
heart o’erflows with joy, and tenderness, and love; and 
more than once, in the beautiful walks of the Villa Pucini, 
I watched the graceful Tuscan girl, as she sat listening to 
the vows of her rustic lover, or caught from the recesses 
of the grove, the responsive “ la mia gioia,” and “ mio 
amore,” which spoke of hearts full of contentment and 
happiness. 

“ Lenesque sub noctem susurri 
Composita repetantur hora.” 


216 


PISTOJA. 


In scenes like these, in pleasant walks in the oak 
wood behind our villa, where, shaded from the noon¬ 
tide heat, and enjoying its leafy solitude, only broken 
by the ceaseless noise of the “ Cicale,” it was so 
sweet to meditate, or, perhaps, I should say to dream, 
that the summer would have passed away most agree¬ 
ably, but I was doomed to undergo that trial which 
embitters the life of so many of our countrymen in 
Italy, and robs them of nearly all its pleasures. 

The sudden and alarming illness of the dearest 
member of my family startled and terrified us, when 
in the full enjoyment of our peaceful retreat; we 
could not attribute this misfortune to anything con¬ 
nected with our residence. It was delightfully cool 
and healthful, for however hot and oppressive Pistoja 
and the plain might be during the day, the mornings 
and evenings afforded delightful seasons for exercise. 
Doubtless, it was one of those visitations intended in 
mercy by our heavenly father, to remind us that our 
abiding-place is not here, and to chasten us for hav¬ 
ing too far yielded up our minds to the enjoyment of 
the beautiful but transitory scene around us; I was 
obliged to send to Florence for an English physician, 
for although Pistoja, of course, had more than one 
good native practitioner, yet, in extreme cases, I 
quite share in the.general English feeling in favour 
of our own medical men. This painful occurrence, and 
the necessity of having more conveniently the advice of 
an English physician, most reluctantly compelled us 
to give up our villa at Pistoja, which we quitted with 
much regret, and proceeded to the baths at Lucca. 


BATHS OF LUCCA. 


217 


CHAPTER XVI. 


The Baths of Lucca—Lucca and the Lucchese—The Cathedral, the “ Santo Yolto 
Dante’s Residence in Lucca—His love for the beautiful Gentucca—Compared with 
Milton as an epic poet—Arrival in Leghorn—Embark for Naples. 


The baths of Lucca are by many persons considered the 
best and most salubrious summer quarters in Italy. It is 
very difficult to decide this question; each person, and 
especially those who are invalids, will speak from their 
own peculiar or accidental impressions; but, never¬ 
theless, the question will remam, as they say, an open 
one, however really important to the poor invalid— 
usually the latter has recourse only to his medical 
man, in his difficulty, and it would be well that he 
should, if the medical man were not too often actuated, 
in the advice he gives, by his own summer movements. 
As to ourselves, we found all the coolness in the 
baths of Lucca, for which the place is celebrated, and 
which it owes to its mountainous and enclosed situation. 
The baths are situated in a prolonged valley, “ con- 
tinui montes, nisi dissocientur opaca valle,” through 
which dashes a rapid river, while the mountains on 
both sides are clothed with spreading chestnut trees, 
affording protection from the sun, more complete 
than any other place I know of; but the same cause 
prevents that free circulation of air, that we enjoyed so 

L 


218 


LUCCA. 


much at Colie Gellato; and we thought the atmosphere 
during the day more oppressive. Fortunately we had 
only taken up our quarters temporarily, in the Hotel at 
the Bagni alia Villa, and were, therefore, free to move 
when we pleased. I would be far from understood, 
as presuming to give an opinion against the salubrity 
of the baths of Lucca, even if I were competent to do 
so. I am inclined, from all I have heard, to believe 
that the merits of this place, as a summer residence, 
are accurately stated in that very useful and valuable 
work to travellers, “ Clarke on Climatesand to rank 
the case of my dear -, as an exceptional one; cer¬ 

tain it is, that, while there, all the unfavourable symptoms 
increased—and we were glad to escape out of this 
wooded ravine, into the open country again, and pro¬ 
ceed to Leghorn. The road is exceedingly beautiful; 
it follows, for some time, the rapid course of the 
Serchio, spanned by the splendid Ponte Moriani (which 
has been raised near the ruins of the old bridge, 
which gave way in 1819), and the ancient, and more pic¬ 
turesque, Ponte del Diavolo, the only one of the 
three great bridges erected here by the great Countess 
Matilda which remains. Here emerging from the valley 
of the Serchio, we pass the beautiful villa of Marlia, long 
the favorite residence of Bonaparte’s sister, the Princess 
Elize, to whom Lucca and its baths are so much indebted, 
and enter the rich and beautiful country in which Lucca 
l’lndustriosa is situated, the capital of that little state 
which once inscribed the proud device of “Libertas” on 
her gates, and, what was better, preserved to her citizens 
the benefit of free institutions, long after all her haughtier 
neighbours had fallen under the yoke of a common slavery. 
Her hour of visitation came at last, but there was nothing 
degrading in her fall ; and it is only just to say that under 



LUCCA. 


219 


the mild and enlightened rule of their amiable sovereign, 
the Duke of Lucca, the Lucchese scarcely feel their loss 
of independence ; they are still as honorably distinguished 
for their integrity and orderly habits, as their proverbial 
industry ; so much so, indeed, that even a Lucchese 
servant will obtain higher wages than a native of any 
other of the Italian States. After the death of Maria 
Louisa, the Duke of Lucca is to obtain the Duchies of 
Parma and Piacenza, while Lucca is to be united to 
Tuscany ; this, on the whole, for various reasons, appears 
a desirable arrangement, and it is difficult to say, admit¬ 
ting that their ancient forms of government cannot be 
revived, which are to be most congratulated—the sove¬ 
reign who shall obtain such an accession of territory, 
w'ith so fine a people, or the people who shall obtain such 
a sovereign as Leopold. Lucca, compared with other 
Italian towns, might be called “ La Pulta,” or the clean, 
as justly as the industrious ; the streets are regular and 
well paved, with good shops, and altogether it has a 
cheerful and agreeable aspect, which is much increased by 
the beautiful promenades, finely planted and laid out on 
its old and now useless ramparts, and which form the 
place of re-union and exercise to all classes of the Luc¬ 
chese. 

The cathedral of Lucca is one of the most interesting 
as well as ancient ecclesiastical edifices in Italy ; and, 
although (in common with most Italian churches) little 
can be said of the exterior, the interior is solemn and im¬ 
posing in a high degree. The style of this great edifice 
is called the Tuscan Gothic, which is so far correct, that it 
implies it to be a modification of that style peculiar to 
this country; it approaches, however, in my opinion, 
nearer to what we associate with the term Gothic, than any 
other church I have seen in Italy, and will, therefore, per- 


220 


LUCCA. 


haps, be most admired by Germans or Englishmen. Early 
impressions influence all our opinions, but their effect is, 
perhaps, stronger and more endearing in all that is con¬ 
nected with our religious feelings; and it is not, therefore, 
to be wondered at, that the Gothic cathedral is better asso¬ 
ciated with our ideas of a place of Christian worship, than 
the Roman temple. Indeed, it would require very little 
research to show that this bias (if I may so term it) of 
our minds, is caused also on higher grounds, and has 
more than early impressions to account for it. The view 
of the nave, and the effect of the bold springing arches, 
regarded from the transept, is very fine; nor is this effect 
broken or diminished by that load of gilding and ornament 
which generally disfigure Roman Catholic churches, while 
the fine stained-glass windows and beautiful marble pave¬ 
ment, with the fine frescoes and magnificent painting of 
“ The Virgin Enthroned,” by Fra Bartolomeo, leave 
nothing to be desired in point of richness. The cathedral 
of Lucca is celebrated in Italy for the possession of that 
wonderful relic, the Volto Santo, so highly venerated by 
the faithful Lucchese, and which they consider as their 
Palladium, and have recourse to it in all their public and 
private disasters. There is no doubt but this relic is one 
of the most ancient of those existing in Europe, and is 
said to have been brought to Lucca from the East, in the 
eighth century, which is a very probable epoch, as, at this 
time, the emperors of Constantinople, in their zeal 
against image-worship, were not only fulminating decrees, 
and pursuing with the greatest severity the worship¬ 
pers of such objects, but were relentlessly destroying the 
images and relics themselves. Quantities of those objects 
were therefore transported into Italy by those who fled 
from the persecution of the Greek emperors ; and the 
natural tendency of the human mind to the adoration of 


LUCCA. 


221 


sensual objects was excited to a passion by these unhappy 
zealots, and spread from Italy over all Western Europe, 
with a fatal rapidity—affording another instance, that of 
all means, persecution is the worst that can be used to 
eradicate religious error. One can hardly listen with 
gravity to the legend of this famous relic, which sets forth 
that after the death and ascension of our Saviour, Nico- 
demus was anxious to form from memory an effigy of 
his crucified master, and that having already carved in 
wood the cross and the body of Christ, he fell asleep 
while trying to recall to mind the true lineaments of 
his divine model. On awaking, he found the sacred 
head (“la sacra testa,” or “ il santo volto,”) miraculously 
completed, by a celestial hand, and brought to wonderful 
perfection. Now that any one of the earliest disciples 
of that religion, whose most distinctive mark was, that 
“ they walked by faith and not by sight,” should have 
set about carving an image of their Divine Founder, does 
indeed seem at the outset hard to believe; but that Nico- 
demus, a ruler of the Jews, a member of the Sanhedrim, 
he, of all others, whom we must suppose to have had, in 
common with his countrymen; the strongest repugnance 
to the carving or veneration of images—that he should 
have been selected as the sculptor of this wonderful relic, 
does indeed seem altogether unaccountable. The truth is, 
that half of these Italian legends are so stupidly contrived, 
and betray such an ignorance of the sacred writings, as to 
reveal at once the superstition and imposture upon which 
they are based ; and it is therefore amazing to witness the 
upper orders and those whom we must suppose educated, in 
appearance equally devoted in their adoration of such 
objects. It is a pregnant proof of the corrupting influence 
of example, of which the history of mankind furnishes us 
with so many striking instances, and realises that fearful 


222 


LUCCA. 


state of a people described by the prophet, when “ the 
mean man boweth down, and the great man humbleth 
himself;” and all classes, the ignorant and enlightened, 
are alike confounded in a common and degrading super¬ 
stition. It is only just to say that having considered this 
subject, I am not inclined to attribute the invention of 
these stories to the priests; nay, I believe it could be 
easily shown that the Roman Catholic bishops and priests 
have frequently (although, unhappily, only individually) 
opposed themselves to the introduction of these super¬ 
stitions ; but, unfortunately, they allowed the period for 
a collective and vigorous effort to pass away, until tole¬ 
ration was at length construed into sanction; and 
the necessities of their ecclesiastical system finally 
obliged them to encourage their power by gratifying the 
laity, and adopting, as matters of faith, the fables and 
practices they were so fondly attached to, and which they 
had too long winked at. 

As strong proofs that the adoration of the Santo Volto 
is not on the decrease, may be mentioned the massive 
lantern of silver, voted by the inhabitants after the 
visitation of the cholera, in ’31, and which is hung up 
in the chapel of this Palladium of their city ; as well as 
the prayers and addresses offered up by the clergy and 
people of Lucca to this celebrated relic, on the occasion 
of the late terrible earthquake, and to which my atten¬ 
tion has been called by a friend, lately returned from 
Lucca. 

\ 

If the stranger has not had enough of the marvellous 
in the legend of the Santo Volto, he may visit the old 
church of Santa Zita, the protectress of the city, where, 
in the affecting story of the fair and persecuted saint, 
whom a clever writer styles “ the Pamela of Romance,” 
he may hear much that is edifying. It was, indeed, 


LUCCA. 


223 


a strange vicissitude, as the same writer observes, for 
the poor but chaste servant-maid of Lucca, to become 
the protectress of a warlike republic; and now, when 
its great and redoubted condottieri, who knelt before 
her shrine, have passed away, nor possess even a sepul¬ 
chre in the city that they governed, the ashes of St. 
Zita still repose there, while Dante himself has doubly 
assured her immortality by preserving her name in his 
“ Divina Commedia.” Lucca itself is associated with the 
history of the great Florentine poet by many memorable 
circumstances: it was here he found a secure and honor¬ 
able asylum when banished from his own ungrateful 
country : it was from Lucca he wrote that proud and 
indignant letter, so characteristic of his haughty and 
unbending spirit, in reply to his father, who had pro¬ 
posed to him to accept the terms offered by the Re¬ 
public, and to purchase his recall by submission, and 
the payment of a ransom; and, alas! for human genius 
and the constancy of poets, we are obliged to add, it 
was at Lucca that he forgot, for the sake of the beau¬ 
tiful Gentucca, the fidelity he owed to Beatrice. We 
have the humiliating confession from himself; but this 
circumstance has not softened the censure or the criti¬ 
cism of his annotators, but seems rather to have sharp¬ 
ened their industry in raking up old stories and vague 
allusions from old writers to other amours and peccadil¬ 
loes of the illustrious poet. To base minds, this is 
ever a congenial task—to sully genius, and try to bring 
down greatness to their own sordid level, by gloat¬ 
ing over its errors and weakness ; but the lover of 
genius and of his kind will not pursue so painful an 
inquiry ; and, though conscious of the frailty that all 
are born to, will prefer to contemplate man when exult¬ 
ing in the glorious powers that his Maker has endowed 


224 


LUCCA. 


him with. If we had nothing to except against the great 
poet, “ il Cantore della Rettidami,” as he has been 
called under this head, we might safely disregard his 
weakness and proneness to indulge the tender passion, 
and, with one of his apologists, attribute these amours, 
not to a love of sensual pleasure, but to a weakness or 
gentleness of heart, “ gentilizza del cuorebut when 
we consider the glorious mission and office of the epic 
poet, and the lofty object of all didactic poetry, but 
especially of that which aspires to treat of the dread 
mysteries of the Christian revelation, it is impossible 
to justify the indulgence which Dante allowed to his 
vindictive feelings, and the extent to which he suffered 
his own wrongs and personal feelings to influence his 
poem. States, cities, and individuals, by name—the 
torments of purgatory—the hopeless anguish of the 
“ Inferno,” are reserved for his personal enemies ; while 
the condemnation of the judge is only rendered the 
more fearful by the art and imagination of the poet. 
Not only is it impossible to justify this on the grounds 
of poetic licence, but in our own more enlightened age 
we find it difficult to understand the state of religion 
and manners that could approve of or allow such a 
licentious liberty to the poet. I have already, in another 
place, contrasted the becoming conduct of our great epic 
poet, who sang of heavenly things, and “ man’s first 
disobedience,” with that sacred awe and chastened 
reverence which suited so well the grandeur and subli¬ 
mity of his theme, without weakening the imagination 
or restraining the soaring flight of that heavenly muse— 


“ That rode sublime 
Upon the seraph wings of Ecstacy, 

And passed the flaming bound of space and time.” 


LUCCA. 


225 


To what are we to attribute this great superiority, and 
the more correct and elevated view in which the great 
English poet seems to have regarded his office, and the 
solemn subjects which he had selected for his muse? 
I do not hesitate to say, the Reformation—that glorious 
event, which, opening to mankind the Holy Scriptures, 
rebuked the daring familiarity which had intruded equally 
into the mansions of heaven and the dark regions of hell. 

It is natural and proper for genius and art to aspire 
to be the handmaidens of religion; it has been so, in¬ 
deed, in all ages of the world; but where the know¬ 
ledge of divine truth is darkened, we cannot expect, 
even from the poet, that just and lofty appreciation 
of the Deity, or “ spiritual discernment” which can only 
come from the study of those inspired records which 
God has given of himself. I do not at all mean to 
imply, that Dante had no acquaintance with the Scrip¬ 
tures—far from it; but I mean to say, that neither the 
age in which he lived, nor his own individual views 
or sentiments, as far as we can judge from his great 
poem, were illuminated by their diffusion and study, 
as in the days of Milton. Had he been so, his muse 
would not have turned aside from its lofty course by 
the bitter recollection of his exile, nor would he at once 
have immortalized his enemies and his own implacable 
resentment by perverting his “ Divina Commedia” to 
the purposes of revenge. Milton had endured wrongs 
and sufferings—he, also, had mingled in political strife, 
and had strong party feelings ; but we find no trace 
of them in his immortal poem. With a party to op¬ 
pose, and a party to support, the English republican 
never forgot that his muse was devoted to higher things; 
and, from the beginning to the close of his great epic, 
he never loses sight of his own elevated office, and the 

n 2 


226 


LUCCA. 


grandeur and sublimity of the theme he had proposed 
to sing. Everything relating to himself, nay, to the 
age and country in which he lived, is not only avoided, 
but lost sight of and forgotten ; and it is only when 
he would sing the ineffable glory of his Creator, as 
manifested in the first element of creation—light—that 
he allows himself to indulge in that deeply-affecting 
allusion to his own blindness—a lament, however, as 
remarkable for its pious resignation as for its poetical 
beauty. The scope and design of Dante was, however, 
quite different. While treating of sacred things—of the 
Christian mysteries, of a future state of rewards and 
punishments — he nevertheless intended the “ Divina 
Commedia” to be, what one of his latest editors calls 
it, a political and moral picture of his own age, in 
which he represents himself and the men who figured 
in it. Consistently with this design, opposed as it is 
to all rules and precedents of epic poetry, the poet 
commences with a reference to himself, his age, and 
circumstances; and, making use of figures and allegory 
to suit his purpose, he mingles and apparently confounds 
the heathen mythology with the Christian dispensation 
in a manner as characteristic of his age and country, 
as it is incompatible and repugnant to a knowledge of 
the Scriptures and revealed religion. But the poet must 
be influenced by the age in which he lives, and the con¬ 
temporaries with whom he mingles. 

Dante wrote for a Roman Catholic, Milton for a Pro¬ 
testant country. The one lived in an age when tradition 
and fable had equally distorted and obscured religion 
and science—the other at a period of unparalleled reli¬ 
gious inquiry and movement, when the great discoveries 
of Bacon and Galileo had produced in science as great 
a revolution as Luther and the Reformation had in reli- 


LUCCA. 


227 


gion. Dante wrote for the people and times in which 
he lived; nay, with the peculiar exclusiveness of his 
country, he views Europe as an Italian, and Italy itself 
as a Florentine. Nations, states, and cities, are only 
regarded according to his own political views and sys¬ 
tem ; and it is not, therefore, so surprising, that in his 
judgment of them, as well as in his treatment of indi¬ 
viduals who had offended him or his party, he is rather 
actuated by the feelings of “ the banished Ghibeline” 
than of the didactic poet. He lived in an age and 
country darkened by the Papal power, and daily beheld 
it make use of its spiritual authority and of the reli¬ 
gious hopes and fears of mankind to further its poli¬ 
tical purposes ; it is not, therefore, surprising, that, 
availing himself of this licence, he scruples not to beatify 
his friends, or plunge his enemies in the dread regions of 
his “ Inferno.” 

It seems at first, as I have said, almost incredible that 
Dante should have been allowed to treat with such bold¬ 
ness and freedom the most sacred subjects—nay, the 
persons of bishops, cardinals, and even the pontiffs them¬ 
selves ; but it is remarkable that the Roman Catholic 
Church, while ever most intolerant in all matters of 
doctrine, has ever been most indulgent in the liberty 
it has allowed to be taken with the person and attri¬ 
butes of the Deity, as well as in the scope it has 
allowed to the inventions of poets and painters. It is 
unnecessary to give instances of this in painting—the 
entire range of Italian painting, from the works of 
Orcagna and Gozzoli, which are, indeed, nothing but 
pictorial illustrations of Dante in the Campo Santo, to 
the great work of Michael Angelo in the Sistine chapel. 
It is only when mother church suspects the poet or 
the painter of an intention to discredit or ridicule its 


228 


LEGHORN. 


saintly mythology, that it thunders forth its censures. 
The “ Morgante Maggiore” of Pulci was condemned, 
while the picture of Dante, with the place of his “ In¬ 
ferno” itself, hangs on the walls of the cathedral in Flo¬ 
rence—any liberty taken with St. Peter or the Virgin Mary 
is crying impiety; but there is nothing profane in usurping 
the judgment-seat of God, in anticipating the most awful 
event which awaits the world and the human race— 
nothing profane in that poetical “ Inferno,” which mingles 
in one common fate the persons of Judas Iscariot and 
Brutus and Cassius; or which represents Solomon in 
Orcagna’s celebrated painting of the “ Universal Judg¬ 
ment,” as standing in a sort of neutral ground, between 
heaven and hell, as if it was doubtful to which he was 
entitled. 

Having paid a cursory visit to the usual objects of 
interest, including the Ducal Palace, which we found 
as disproportioned to the state, and as splendid as the 
royal residences of Italy usually are, we proceeded on 
our journey to Leghorn, passing by Pisa, which "we 
were all glad of having another opportunity of visiting; 
but my visit to the Duomo and Campo Santo, and a 
walk through this memorable city, while affording further 
materials for the recollection to dwell upon, altered so 
little my first impressions, that anything I could add 
to them would be but a repetition. Towards evening 
we reached Leghorn, or Livorno, as every one with an 
ear should prefer to call it. Next day we took up our 
quarters in the Villa Palmieri, a quarter that presented 
peculiar facilities for sea-bathing. We felt the sun 
decidedly stronger than at the baths of Lucca; but its 
heat was tempered by the delicious morning and even¬ 
ing breeze which prevails along these shores of the 
Mediterranean, with almost the regularity of the tro- 


LEGHORN—EMBARK FOR NAPLES. 


229 


pics; and the result of the change was a considerable 

improvement in the health of my dear -, though 

not, alas! in that of our poor little A-, whose 

drooping state now added another painful anxiety to 
my mind. It is commonly observed in Italy, that 
English children, weaned in Italy, seldom thrive ; and 
certainly our experience would go far to justify the 
observation. These are sad drawbacks on a residence 
in this lovely land; and parents alone can understand 
the bitterness of watching over suffering infancy. On 
the whole, a decided change of scene and air seemed 
so desirable, that we determined to proceed to Naples, 
whither our desires had long tended. We took advan¬ 
tage, therefore, of those fine steamers which now regu¬ 
larly ply between Marseilles and the intermediate ports, 
and embarked our large party for Naples. 





230 


NAPLES. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


Naples, impressions and description of—Its noise and uproar—Furious driving—Cli¬ 
mate—The Sirocco at Naples—Pompeii and its sights—Impressions left upon the 
mind by a visit to this “ City of the Dead ”—Plans and disappointments—“ Man 
proposes, God disposes”—Environs of Naples—Elysian Fields—Baia—Shooting 
excursion to the Lago di Morte—The Duke d’Aumale in search of a Wife—Policy 
of Louis Philippe—King of Naples’ love of “ playing at Soldiers ”—Caserta—Paes- 
tum—Capri—Museo Borbonico—Leave Naples for Rome. 

Haying touched at Civita Vecchia, a wretched place, 
where there was no better occupation for our time than, 
according to precedent, to attend the levee of a cele¬ 
brated brigand, confined there in a sort of honorable 
captivity, we found ourselves, on the second morning 
after leaving Leghorn, passing the beautiful islands of 
Procida and Ischia, and entering the far-famed Bay of 
Naples. My boyish eyes had dwelt, many years before, 
on that enchanting scene ; but my delight and admira¬ 
tion of its unrivalled beauty was not in the least lessened 
by the circumstance. We passed close to the bold head¬ 
land of Misenum, rendered so memorable by the muse 
of Virgil, and Pozzuoli by the history of St. Paul, and 
coasted along those enchanting shores lined with vil¬ 
lages, and country houses gleaming from amidst the 
orange-groves and vineyards, till at length, rounding 
the beautiful cape of Posilipo, Naples itself, in all 
its glory, burst upon our view, in the clear light of 


NAPLES. 


231 


an autumnal morning, its churches and palaces re¬ 
flecting the rays of the sun, and the deep azure of 
the skies of “ the blessed Campania.” Not a cloud 
was to be seen, save those which rested on the 
summit of Vesuvius; and, turning for a moment from 
the gay and lovely city, our regards became fixed on 
that black mountain, so deeply and fearfully asso¬ 
ciated with the history of this land and its inha¬ 
bitants, the only dark and threatening feature in the 
smiling and lovely scene before us. 

Far to the right, following the sweep of the bay, 
toward the lofty mountains, is Castella Mare, with 
Sorrento and Cape Minerva, which mark the extreme 
limits of the bay, while midway, as if to guard the 
entrance to this favoured region, stands the celebrated 
Isle of Caprea. It was, indeed, with justice that the 
ancients here fixed the residence of the syren Par- 
thenope, and called the place after her name. Nor 
can we wonder that it became the favourite retreat 
of the great and wealthy of the Romans, and that 
here, subdued by the delicious climate, the lords of 
the world forgot their greatness, and abandoned them¬ 
selves to luxury and indolence. Here, Ctesar forgot 
his ambition; and Virgil sang not “ Arms and the 
Man,” but, allowing his muse to recreate in the 
soft and peaceful scenes around him, he sang, “ on 
his rustic reed,” pastoral songs, and the ease and 
happiness of the life of the husbandman—as he him¬ 
self tells us, at the close of his “ Georgies”— 

“ Illo Virgilium me tempore dulcis alebat 
Parthenope, studiis florentem ignobilis oti.” 

The Greek, the Roman, and the Goth, the Norman and 


232 


NAPLES. 


Spaniard, charmed with its surpassing beauty, have 
in turn possessed this land, till, captivated by its plea¬ 
sures, and losing by degrees the virtues and hardihood 
of their native character, the conquerors have been at 
length subdued, and confounded with the conquered in 
the same general effeminacy and indolence which, in 
all ages, have distinguished the inhabitants of this lovely 
region. 

I thought London noisy, but, compared with Naples, 
it is tranquillity itself. In London, the population pour 
themselves along the great thoroughfares in a steady 
and continuous stream, and at regular periods—east¬ 
ward, or “ city-ways,” in the morning, and westward 
in the afternoon ; and all wear the same occupied and 
business look; but the vast and motley crowds of 
Naples whirl about in groups like eddies, or collect 
in crowds brought together by the mere exigencies of 
their animal and vagabond existence. Here we come 
upon a mob collected round a showman, screaming 
and gesticulating with delight — yonder is a crowd 
listening to some crack-brained and half-starved poet, 
who is reading from a dirty manuscript his verses. 
A little further on, we come upon a group of fisher¬ 
men, “ i pescatori di Napoli,” who, with loud cries, 
are launching their boats or hauling them in, while 
their wives are occupied selling their scaly prey, and 
adding, with all the proverbial volubility of their craft, 
their sweet voices to swell the general uproar. Here 
hungry crowds stand impatiently round the stalls of 
the maccaroni venders; while others collect round the 
stalls where fried fish is sold. One is astonished to 
find such life and activity in a people proverbial for 
their indolence and laziness ; but what are they all 
about ? whither are they all rushing ? have they no 


NAPLES. 


233 


definite object—no particular motive for all this driving 
and moving about ? No. Thus, day after day, they 
rush backward and forward, from one extremity of the 
city to another, heedless of everything, and in their wild 
enjoyment of the present hour, the most reckless and 
abandoned population in the world. Any description 
of Naples would be incomplete that did not introduce 
the countless fiacres, cabriolets, and carriages of all 
sorts, and the miserable animals that draw them, as 
well as the attempt to give an idea of the noise and 
confusion of Naples, without taking into account the 
cries and cracking of the whips of their wild and 
ruthless drivers, as if their legs could not carry them 
fast enough in the maddening pursuit of pleasure or 
excitement. All classes take to carriages, and whirl 
about from one end of the city to the other, with a 
mad rapidity that is truly astonishing—the nobleman, 
in his. gaudy carriage, and lackeys in tawdry liveries 
—officers in bright uniforms—priests in couples, and 
burly friars—broken-down soldiers and buffoons, and 
washerwomen and lazzaroni, all seem equally to regard 
carriage exercise as a thing essential to existence. In 
their excitement, speed seems the grand object; the 
“ De'il take the hindmost,” seems to be the universal 
feeling; and for this the merciless jarvy, forgetful 
even of the value of his miserable horse, and who has 
not, perhaps, a ducat in the world to replace him 
with, belabours his lean and panting sides with a mer¬ 
ciless perseverance only to be witnessed here. If there 
is a place in the world where the “ Society to pre¬ 
vent Cruelty to Animals” is required, it is at Naples. 
The heart bleeds (that is, provided it be not Neapo¬ 
litan) at the tortures inflicted by these ruffians on this 
noblest and most ill-fated of all animals. I have heard 


234 


NAPLES. 


of the wit who rebuked the cruelty of a London 
hackney-coachman by a humorous allusion to the doc¬ 
trine of the transmigration of souls—“ That’s right, my 
fine fellow,” cried he, “ hit him hard; he was a hack¬ 
ney-coachman once himself;” but had he witnessed these 
scenes in the city of Naples, he would have rather said— 
“ A Neapolitan Cocchieri.” 

As usual, for several days after our arrival, we were 
occupied in looking for suitable apartments, no easy 
matter anywhere, but least of all, at Naples ; in truth, 
if we except the beautiful suburbs of this great but 
scattered city, the habitable part of the town is con¬ 
fined within narrow limits, and offers little selection. 
Santa Lucia, Chiatamone, and the Chiaja, but parti¬ 
cularly the latter, are the favourite and general quarters 
of the upper classes, and of the strangers at Naples ; 
but the rents demanded from the latter are extrava¬ 
gant; for such an apartment as I required, they thought 
nothing of asking me, on the Chiaja, one hundred 
and fifty and two hundred ducats a-month, and this 
for not less than six months; we, therefore, thought 
ourselves fortunate in being able to obtain an indif¬ 
ferent lodging, in one of the worst furnished palaces 
(for all these houses are dignified with this imposing 
title) on the Chiaja, for one hundred piastres a-month. 
Our apartment, however, was au premier, and over¬ 
looked the beautiful grounds of the Villa Reale, and 
spite of the dirty and motley group located in the 
vestibulum below, it was no slight advantage for 
governess and children, and, indeed, all of us, to 
be able, by merely crossing the street, to recreate 
both mind and body in its agreeable walks; but it 
would have been strange, indeed, even for the least cu¬ 
rious of our party, not to have been content to remain 


NAPLES. 


235 


there long, amidst the never-ending variety of both 
scenes and objects around us; for myself, having 
grown accustomed, in some degree, to the noise and 
uproar, and entering into the common excitement, I 
at last found myself in a fiacre, and daily rattling 
along, “in more Napolitano,” from the grotto of Po- 
silipo to the Ponte Maddelena, till, at last, I began 
not only to comprehend but to feel something of that 
wild pleasure which this affords to the Neapolitans. 
Charmed with such a variety of objects, and occupied 
with the shifting scenes as they pass rapidly before 
us, we think only of the present, and feel, indeed, 
that life—simple existence—under that deep blue sky, 
with the power of motion, along that beautiful shore, 
is, in itself, an intense delight and source of continual 
enjoyment; so seem the Neapolitans to feel, and so 
have they ever felt; “ Carpe diem ” is there as favorite 
a dictum as it was in the days of the Romans. It 
is only when the oppressive and resistless breath of 
the sirocco is felt (but that, unfortunately, is very 
often), that all life, and joy, and motion, seem to be 
suspended; the prima donna can no longer sing, or 
the ballerina dance; the merchant dozes in his count¬ 
ing-house, and the shopkeeper wishes the customer 
who disturbs him “ al diavolo,” while the cafes are 
filled with crowds of languid and listless-looking 
beings, who in vain drawl out their demands, and call 
for ices or coffee to the jaded and careless waiter. 
What a contrast did these same places and people 
present; yesterday, there all was life, and noise, and 
enjoyment; to the demand “ che gelate avete” came 
the quick reply, “ tutte, tutte, signore,” and a list so 
long and various, that the only astonishment was, that 
the fellows had either patience or breath to repeat 


236 


NAPLES. 


it so often. Now, contrasted with the life and motion 
of yesterday, there is not a single unnecessary word 
or gesture; this unnatural stillness seems like the 
exhaustion which follows the exertion and excitement 
of their own favorite dance, the tarantella. But the 
sirocco is all-pervading and impartial—there is no 
exception ; and strangers as well as natives are found 
to yield to its all-powerful influence. But let the 
traveller comfort himself in knowing that, unlike our 
own land of fog and gloom, these dark days at 
Naples are the exception not the rule; that months 
of fine weather make us forget the rainy season, and 
that an occasional sirocco is amply atoned for by 
the constancy of those zephyrs which, laden with 
freshness as well as perfume, seem literally, in the 
language of the poet, 

“ To winnow fragrance round the lovely land.” 

Those only who are acquainted with the south of Italy 
and the Mediterranean, know how rapidly the tempest 
passes away, and how suddenly the deep azure sky 
appears again, while the black and threatening clouds 
hie far away, and become— 

“ In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.” 

Occupied with the constant enjoyment and novelty 
afforded me, in observing the motley inhabitants of 
Naples, as seen along its winding shore, or in its 
streets—a people, which seem to be divided into as 
many distinct castes as the Hindoos—I turned for some 
time a deaf ear to the suggestions of those of our 
party who were impatient to visit Pompeii. The truth 


POMPEII. 


237 


is, I had so much of stirring, actual life and reality- 
before me, that whatever my ordinary disposition may 
be, I was for some time indisposed, and not in the 
vein for contemplating the dead, or conjuring up the 
past. But a re-perusal of Bulwer’s “ Last Days of Pom¬ 
peii,” and a walk to the neighbouring tomb of Virgil, 
at Posilipo, soon renewed the sentiment of romance, 
and awakened my interest in the ancients. There was 
nothing to impede our desire, or even to delay it, 
for as if these true successors of the Sybarites could 
enjoy, with sufficient rapidity, all the varied beauty 
and delight of their land in their vehicles, the mighty 
power of steam is called in to bear them along its 
shore, with a rapidity and ease, that their indolent 
and effeminate ancestors could never have dreamed 
of, even in their most luxurious dreams. Proceeding, 
therefore, by the Castella Mare railway, we were soon 
at Torre della Nanziata, where we hired a carriage 
to take us to Pompeii. At only a short distance, we 
met a sign-post with the words “ Via di Pompeiiturn¬ 
ing from the main road into a lane, our carriage- 
wheels sinking deep in the lava, we came in a few 
minutes to a wooden barrier, which defends the entrance 
into the Campus Augusti Felicis, or ancient suburb, 
outside of the Herculaneum gate of Pompeii, and in 
which is the celebrated street of tombs; we were ad¬ 
mitted by an old soldier. When we at once came 
upon the great consular way, and trod the very pave¬ 
ment which, joining the great Appian way, according 
to the description of Strabo, passed through Campania 
to Rhegium, Bruttii, and Sicily, we were no sooner 
inside, than turning to the right, we beheld those 
beautiful marble tombs, perhaps, the most interesting 
and instructive monuments we possess of the ancient 


288 


POMPEII. 


inhabitants of Italy. Leaving both sides of the way 
leading to the ancient gate of the city, we were about 
to move forward, and begin by observing them, when 
one of the regular cicerone stepped with the greatest 
politeness forward, and appropriated to himself the 
charge of our movements. It is the fashion to ridi¬ 
cule and make light of the services and information 
of those fellows; but for a first visit, I have always 
found their local knowledge has saved me much time, 
and I would never advise a traveller, not even the 
most learned and philosophical, to disdain their assis¬ 
tance ; let him first acquire a general idea of the 
place—he may afterwards muse and ruminate alone, 
and plunge as deep as he will in classic lore and 
antiquities. Before our self-appointed guide would 
allow us to examine the tombs, he led us into the 
house, or rather villa of the freedman, M. Arrius Dio- 
medes, rendered so familiar to us by the graphic 
description of Lytton Bulwer, whose genius has again 
peopled the deserted and roofless dwellings and streets 
of Pompeii with the gay and luxurious beings that 
once inhabited them. What a happy idea, what a 
noble subject for a novel! the wonder is, that it was 
not caught-up long before; and yet, the idea must 
have suggested itself to many great and imaginative 
minds ; but, perhaps, the higher these powers of ima¬ 
gination, the greater appeared the difficulty of doing 
justic.e to such an idea. When, alas! the great en¬ 
chanter of the north at length visited these memo¬ 
rable scenes, the powers that had so long delighted the 
world, and recalled past ages, and men and manners, 
as if with an enchanted wand, had died away; but yet, 
the involuntary and repeated exclamation of the greatest 
of modern novelists, as he paced mournfully through 


POMPEII. 


239 


their deserted streets, was descriptive and full of mean¬ 
ing— 


“ The City of the Dead—the City of the Dead.” 


Volumes might be written on Pompeii, and yet, they 
would only be to realise and carry out this brief but 
comprehensive summary—the profound impression which 
the ruins of Pompeii leave upon the mind of the be¬ 
holder. But there is nothing dark, or noisome, or 
gloomy in this “ City of the Dead it is only sad be¬ 
cause without inhabitant, and from the recollection of 
the fate that overwhelmed it; still all looks bright, and 
fresh, and beautiful; the gay paintings on the walls— 
the marble fountains, which seem about to play, as if 
their stream had been only just suspended—the Atrium, 
with its beautiful Mosaic pavement—the classic peris¬ 
tyle—the cubicula, or alcove for sleeping—the vestibule, 
with its hospitable “ salve,” that invites you to enter— 
and the beautiful and deep-blue sky over all; there is 
so little of ruin or desolation, in the ordinary sense of 
the word—even the roofless state of the*buildings does 
not convey to us the common idea, for we behold the 
hooks or marks for the velamen, or awning, which 
they were accustomed to draw over them, and which, 
in this fine climate, answered all the purposes of a roof; 
nay, the very tombs would hardly look mournful, did 
we not feel (although we can hardly bring ourselves 
to believe it) that the pious crowds that once 
daily issued from that gate, would never more come 
forth to scatter chaplets and flowers on the tombs of 
those they loved; yet, at last, a feeling of deep me¬ 
lancholy takes possession of us, increasing as we pro- 


240 


POMPEII. 


ceed through the deserted and noiseless streets, and 
enter mansion after mansion, alike tenantless and 
deserted. Where are the crowds that once thronged, 
or the owners that once possessed them ? We look 
for both; at first, we almost hesitate to enter unin¬ 
vited, and every moment expect some member of the 
family will come forth to rebuke us for our intrusion; 
but vain is the thought—we pass from house to house 
with impunity—we search their vacant chambers, but 
no footfall is heard on the echoing pavement but our 
own—no voice responds to ours but those of the 
persons who have chanced to accompany us. Where 
are the Pompeiians ? and echo answers, where ? 
We pause and meditate—filled, overcome by an incon¬ 
ceivable feeling of melancholy. But we are about 
to enter the house of Diomedes—let us enter by 
all means; but think not, my gentle reader, that I 
am going to weary you with a lengthened descrip¬ 
tion of a place now so familiar, or with an idle 
dissertation on the domestic architecture of the Pom¬ 
peiians and ancients in general'; this has been done 
so often and so well, that it would be not only 

wearisome, btft presumptuous. 

* 

“ Melius est petere fontem quam sectari rivulos.” 


Still, for the satisfaction of the matter-of-fact, I will 
venture upon a few details, more especially as to de¬ 
scribe the interior arrangements of the house of Diomedes, 
will be, in a great degree, to describe those of Pompeii 
in general—for they are all built after a common design, 
perfectly in accordance with those plans of the houses 
of the ancients, which we have derived from the 


POMPEII. 


241 


writings of Vitruvius, as well as with the references 
and allusions of ancient authors. The house of 
Diomedes differs, however, from the rest of those in 
Pompeii, in this respect; it is, if I recollect rightly, 
the only two-story house existing there; and being a 
villa, its courts and chambers are not quite upon the 
plan of those houses within the gate, which, of course, 
we are to regard as town-houses. The house of 
Diomedes, however, is one of the largest, and, all 
things considered, one of the handsomest and most 
commodious, in Pompeii. Its materials are a sort of 
grey tufo, mixed with the volcanic stones, usually 
found in all the houses at Pompeii ; there is a lavish 
display of colour, and great profusion of ornament. 
The columns are painted a deep purple, and the walls 
are everywhere adorned with bright paintings and de¬ 
signs ; there is, however, in the house of Diomedes, 
generally, a want of that correctness of taste and classic 
beauty, which reigns in the other houses of Pompeii; 
and this, with the many indications of wealth, as 
well as the circumstance of Diomedes having been 
a freedman, has furnished Bulwer with the happy, 
and probably correct idea of making its possessor a 
rich and aspiring parvenu. Mounting a few steps, 
covered with large tiles, and adorned on the sides 
with columns, we come to the quadrangular court, 
which the ancients called the Impluvium. It resembles, 
and, no doubt, served as the model for the “ Cortile” 
—the finest and most distinguishing feature of the 
Italian palaces; this is surrounded by columns of 
brick, covered over with stucco, to imitate marble, and 
forms the peristyle, or covered portico. It is beauti¬ 
fully paved in Mosaic, formed of little pieces of brick, 
intermingled with white marble. In the centre of the 

M 


242 


POMPEII. 


court is a marble fountain, which was supplied with 
water from the roof of the portico. From the Im- 
pluvium, as a common centre, branch, in this, as in 
all the other houses of Pompeii, the galleries that 
lead to the various apartments of the mansion. But 
the most remarkable of all the rooms in the house of 
Diomedes, are those devoted to the bath. The number 
and variety of those, as well as the ingenious contri¬ 
vances used to heat them, give us the highest idea 
of the luxury of the Pompeiians, and the pitch of ex¬ 
travagance to which they carried all their arrangements 
for this, their grand enjoyment. 

The Emperor Commodus, we are told, went to the 
bath seven times a-day; and, generally among the 
Romans, the bath was as much resorted to for pleasure 
as cleanliness. These apartments are also situated near the 
Impluvium. In a more remote part of the mansion, and 
separated by themselves, are the gynseceum, or apart¬ 
ments of the women. These rooms have been quite 
overwhelmed and filled up with the lava. It is from 
the ground-floor that we descend into the subterranean 
corridor of three sides, used as a wine-cellar, “ cella 
vinaria,” and celebrated as the place in which were dis¬ 
covered the seventeen skeletons of the unhappy persons, 
who, it would seem, there sought in vain an asylum 
from the dreadful showers of ashes and stones, which 
overwhelmed the houses of the Pompeiians. From the 
circumstance of one of these skeletons, that of a woman, 
being adorned with a necklace and bracelets of gold, 
it has, with good reason, been supposed that this was the 
mistress of the mansion and her unfortunate family. We 
were afterwards shown, in the Museo Borbonico, the 
print of this woman hardened in the ashes, and in which 
the bosom, and even the fine vestment, could be plainly 


POMPEII. 


243 


distinguished. Ascending from this subterraneous cor¬ 
ridor, we came at once upon the garden, surrounded by a 
peristyle, and adorned with a fish-pond and marble foun¬ 
tain : from the garden a door communicates with the 
country outside; and it was here that the skeleton, 
supposed to be that of the master of the house, with a 
bundle of keys in one hand, and with money and several 
valuable golden ornaments in the other, and behind him 
another, supposed to be that of his slave, transporting 
some vases of bronze and silver, were discovered. 

Leaving the house of Diomedes, we step at once into 
“the street of tombs;” and the first which salute us 
are those erected to different members of the family of 
Diomedes himself. From the inscription on the largest 
of these monuments we collect all that we know of 
his history; it has also served to ascertain the name of 
this locality of ancient Pompeii. 

“ M. Arrius C. L. Diomedes, 

Sibi suis memoriae, 

Magister Pag. Aug. 

Felic. Suburb.” 

Conveying to us that Marcus Arrius Diomedes, the 
freedman of Caius, the master of the suburban dis¬ 
trict of Augustus Felix, erected this sepulchral 
monument to the memory of himself and his family. 
There is something peculiarly awful in thus stepping 
from the dwelling, which the dread catastrophe that 
overwhelmed Pompeii converted into a common tomb 
for himself and all his family—it is, I say, a fear¬ 
fully solemn thing to come and regard, only a few 
yards off, the splendid mausoleum that the vain and 
short-sighted possessor intended for himself—what a 
mockery!—what a lesson upon human vanity ! Yes ; 
care was bestowed—the fine arts displayed—the sculptor 


244 


POMPEII. 


employed, to gratify the pride of the wealthy and 
pompous Diomedes—when already the hidden fires 
beneath his feet, and yonder black and threatening 
mountain, were preparing a tomb as magnificent as 
dreadful. There is much that is beautiful in these 
tombs of Pompeii, and frequently their brief and 
simple inscriptions, and classical emblems, are ex¬ 
tremely affecting as w r ell as appropriate. What a 
beautiful and touching emblem is that which repre¬ 
sents the ship, engraved in relief on one of the 
funeral altars, which recalls to us that sea of life, 
wherein man is appointed to strive and buffet. The vessel 
is represented as going into port with her sails furled, 
to intimate that death is to be regarded as the end 
of the voyage: but, alas! we know that those only 
“ who die in the Lord,” can calmly and serenely re¬ 
gard it in this light. Whatever the tombs or writings 
of the ancients would lead us at first to believe, we 
know from inspiration itself, as well as from our own 
consciences, that the idea of death was abhorrent and dread¬ 
ful to them, as it must ever remain to the natural man. 
They sought, with pompous funerals, and splendid 
monuments, to defy the grave, and disarm death of 
his terrors ; but they sought in vain—it is only the 
peace which is given, and the hopes that are brought 
to light by the Gospel, that can enable man to raise 
the exulting cry, “ Oh, death! where is thy sting! 
Oh, grave! where is thy victory!” 

Passing successively the Ustrina, or place where, 
according to the rites of the ancients, the dead were 
burnt, and their ashes collected, as well as the place 
where the friends of the deceased met to eat the funeral 
repast, or silicernium, and a variety of other tombs and 
monuments, we approached the gate of the city, just 


POMPEII. 


245 


outside of which, is the caupona or Inn, frequented by 
the country people. The gate of the city, as well as 
the walls generally, are covered with notices and 
advertisements in red characters; amongst the most re¬ 
markable and curious are those which announce 
gladiatorial shows and combats. Nothing can be con¬ 
ceived more solemn and affecting than the wide prospect 
of public and private edifices, which, deserted and 
roofless, meet our view on entering the city. The first 
house which we meet, and close to the gate, is the 
post house—one of those which Augustus caused to be 
erected in all the principal towns, along the great public 
ways, where travellers could, at all times, provide them¬ 
selves with vehicles and horses; and no\v we beheld 
not only private dwellings, but wine shops; and bakeries 
with their ovens ; mills with their grinding apparatus; 
and even cafes, as the modern Italian would call the 
Thermopolia, or shops, in which hot drinks of various 
kinds were sold, and which prove that the ancients 
were not less luxurious in their “ bibiti” than their 
descendants. The stains of the liquor, and the marks 
of the poeula, or goblets, are still plainly discernible 
on the counters. 

We visited the beautiful houses of Sallust (so remark¬ 
able for its elegance and classical decorations), of 
Pansa, and of Marcellus, places now rendered, as I 
have said, so familiar to us by the novelist, and of 
which we are not left in any doubt, for each dwelling 
is inscribed with the name and title of its ancient 
possessor. We then visited the noble Forum and 
Basilica of Pompeii, which, remembering that this was 
only a minor provincial town, give us a high idea 
of the magnificence which the Pompeiians, in common 
with all the ancients, manifested in their public buildings ; 


•246 


POMPEIT. 


and having crossed a great square, we came to the 
Temple of Isis, situated in a distant part of Pompeii, 
and of which Bulwer has availed himself, in the 
closing scene of his novel. The barrack, or quarters 
of the soldiers, is in this neighbourhood, which pre¬ 
sented us with many objects of deep interest. Our party 
were now very tired, but we determined not to stop 
short of the amphitheatre, the greatest and most 
memorable of all the ruins of Pompeii. It lies at a 
considerable distance, and quite separated from the 
rest of the town. Within the gates there are the ruins 
both of a tragic and comic theatre; but this immense 
building was reserved for those great gladiatorial shows, 
and combats with wild beasts, of which the Pompeiians, 
in common with all the people of Campania, were 
so passionately fond; and of which, indeed, it is said 
they were the inventors. 

We can hardly believe that the soft and luxurious 
beings, such as everything in Pompeii attests its ancient 
inhabitants to have been, could have brought themselves 
to witness, with pleasure, those dreadful sports, did 
not experience, in this, confirm the voice of ancient 
history, and daily shew us how often effeminate softness 
is united with cold-blooded cruelty ; so insatiable, indeed, 
became here the desire and rage for these bloody ex¬ 
hibitions, that they were no longer confined to the 
amphitheatres, but, at length, no joyous feast, or 
friendly banquet was deemed complete, that was not 
attended by two or three pair of gladiators, whose 
bloody struggles might serve to rouse and excite the 
flagging spirits of the exhausted guests. 

“ Eo luxus provecti sunt (Campani) ut convivias voca- 
rent ad paria gladiatoria quorum numerum pro dignitate 
caetuque convivii augebant, minuebantve.”—Strab. lib. v. 


POMPEII. 


247 


“ Occide, ure, verbera, quare tam timide incurrit in 
ferrum, quare parum audacter occidit, quare parum liben- 
turmoritur?” These, we learn from Seneca, were the 
brutal and inhuman cries that rose from the Roman 
amphitheatres ;—see his eleventh epistle. 

When we recall those atrocious spectacles, and look 
upon the deserted benches and now vacant arena of the 
amphitheatre, we look upward at that black mountain 
with a deep and increasing feeling of awe, as the dread 
minister appointed by the offended Deity to vindicate his 
retributive justice. Yes, that lava-covered arena has oft 
been deluged with the blood of the wretched beings who 
there in desperation fought for life or an infamous glory ; 
and those benches thronged by the crowds who in turns 
stimulated or terrified them by their ferocious cries. 

But oh! it is not only in the amphitheatre, but in every 
street and house in Pompeii, that we read the same awful 
evidences of the depth of depravity and guilt into which 
man falls when God has abandoned him to the guidance 
of his own “ reprobate mind.” The overwhelming erup¬ 
tion—the torrents of lava which buried their city—the 
revolution of seventeen hundred years, which had well 
nigh erased its existence and history from the records of 
mankind, have not been able to destroy or conceal for ever 
the fearful monuments and obscene relics which too well 
declare the manners and customs of its ancient inhabi¬ 
tants ; they are no longer hidden, they stand in the light 
of day, or preserved with care in royal museums, forming 
together the most striking and awful commentary that 
can be offered of the truth of St. Paul’s description of the 
world, as given in his first chapter to the Romans. A 
visit to this doomed and ill-fated city is well calculated to 
fill the mind of even the least reflecting with serious 
meditation ; and many may find it a profitable exercise 


•248 


NAPLES. 


to pause awhile in their mad pursuit of pleasure, and 
leaving the gay saloons of Naples, ponder alone in those 
silent yet eloquent streets ; haply they may there hear 
a voice powerful enough to arrest them, ere it be too late, 
in their blind and ruinous career. For ourselves, I hope 
we returned, in the evening, to Naples, v r ith a deep and 
solemn impression. O may it be as enduring as it was 
solemn and impressive ! 

For some days after our visit to Pompeii, I occupied 
myself in excursions to the immediate suburbs of Naples, 
which vie in interest with the most distant, or in exploring 
the different quarters of this strange and beautiful city 
itself, and day after day felt more charmed. 

The weather was delightful, the sky cloudless, while a 
fresh and exhilarating breeze was alternately wafted from 
the surrounding mountains, or the rippling bosom of “the 
dark blue sea.” Now I sat musing near the tomb of 
Virgil, at Posilipo, at another time gazing with delight on 
all the glories of Naples, and its unrivalled bay, from the 
beautiful gardens of Capo di Monte ; indeed, so charmed 
did I feel with this beautiful region, that I reproached 

myself for not having visited it sooner, and half de- 

0 

termined to settle there for the rest of the time we pur¬ 
posed remaining in Italy. I busied, or rather puzzled 
myself, in selecting our future residence; at one time I % 
was on the point of concluding an agreement for General 
Maia’s beautiful villa, at Capo di Monte, till my dis¬ 
covery of a charming residence in Pizzo Falcone, with 
grounds commanding the most beautiful views, again 
threw me into doubt and uncertainty ; but “ while man 
proposes, God disposes:” it was ordered that our stay at 
Naples should be of a much more limited duration, and 
however painful at the time these dispensations may 
appear, we should bow in submission to the divine will, 


NAPLES. 


249 


knowing that “all things work together for good to them 
that believe.” I have heard it said that Naples, and even 
its varied and yet continued beauty, fail at last to charm 
the stranger's eye; and even amidst these lovely scenes 
it is certain the Englishman will often sigh for the nobler 
pursuits and manlier occupations of his native land; while 
even the learned and philosophical, admitting all the 
interest that Naples presents to them, will long for a 
more intellectual society than that which the thoughtless 
and pleasure-hunting crowds of Naples afford them. The 
Happy Valleys failed to satisfy the desires of Rasselas, 
or to charm his discontent, and so even Naples itself, 
with all its delights, cannot fill the aching void which all 
are doomed to feel, and none, perhaps, more bitterly than 
those who travel farthest in the vain search after happi¬ 
ness ; I rejoice, however, that our stay at Naples was not 
prolonged to that point. I continued to prosecute my 
excursions with renewed pleasure, and Naples, its bay 
and unrivalled coast, daily appeared more beautiful and 
enchanting, as we discerned new points of view from 
which to regard them. The convents of St. Elmo and 
Carmaldoli present the most favorable positions, and he 
who has contemplated “ the blessed Campania” from 
those sacred heights, has seen the loveliest prospect that 
earth can present him ; and yet man cannot even rest 
satisfied or contented here—he still desires something that 
he does not possess, still hopes and strives to obtain, and 
is still disappointed, yet hopes again, and renews the 
struggle, which ends only with the grave. It seems 
strange that in every country the monastic orders should 
thus have selected the most beautiful situations imagina¬ 
ble for their convents; for we would suppose that those 
who had abandoned the world would not desire to be 
constantly called to the contemplation of its beauties. 

m 2 


250 


THE ELYSIAX FIELDS, ETC. 


When the great tempter proposed to assail the Son 
of Man with the allurements of ambition, he led him 
up, we are told, to “ an exceeding high mountain, 
and showed him all the kingdoms of the earth, and 
the glory of them.” The tempter failed, for Imma¬ 
nuel himself was there; but for a poor, weak, and 
sinful man to select such a site as that of the Con¬ 
vent of Carmaldoli, for mortification and retirement, 
does, indeed, seem strange and inconsistent; even 
charity can hardly restrain us from thinking that 
many a monk, who has paced beneath the lofty cy¬ 
presses of that delicious walk, with Naples and its 
glorious sea stretching beneath him, has pined again 
to taste the pleasures and enjoy the freedom of the 
world he had too rashly abandoned. 

We now extended our excursion to Pozzuoli, the 
Lake of Avernus, the Elysian fields, the Stygian marsh, 
and Phlegethonian plains—the most sacred region of the 
ancients—the memorable scene of the sixth book of 
the iEneid; but, alas ! the classical inquirer will find 
his Virgil but an uncertain guide-book in this land of 
earthquakes and volcanoes. The face of nature itself 
has been changed—lakes have been filled up, or have 
become pools ; moles have been overthrown; nay, 
mountains have sprung up, to change or to oblite¬ 
rate the scenes which Virgil and Horace have de¬ 
scribed and sung. Where is the Julian Port, whose 
formation the former has celebrated as amongst the 
wonderful examples of Roman power ? Can this be 
the Lucrine lake—this shallow and muddy pool, where 
we may even look, and look in vain, for the oysters 
for which it once was so famous ? It would require 
no self-denial now for Horace to exclaim— 


“Non me Lucrina juverint conchylia.” 


BAIA. 


251 

Still, there is enough in that gloomy lake to identify 
it with the Avernus of the poet—enough in those dark 
caves, reeking with sulphureous exhalations, and “ burnt 
fields,’' to account for the sacred awe with which they 
were regarded by the ancients. Without revelation, 
and unenlightened by science, they attributed all extra¬ 
ordinary phenomena to the capricious agency of super¬ 
natural beings, and not to natural and certain laws, 
whicii govern matter in accordance with the purpose of 
the great Creator. Volcanic action was, therefore, only 
to be accounted for by mythology, which, supported by 
tradition, poetically explained in the story of the over¬ 
throw of the giants, the burning mountains, and the 
frequent earthquakes of this wonderful region. But, 
amongst all the changes that time has wrought around 
it, the shore of Baia remains as enchanting and lovely 
as ever. 


“ Nullus in orbe locus Baiis prolucet amtenis !” 

exclaimed Horace, than whom there was never a better 
judge of all that was pleasing and delightful. Here 
the greatest and wealthiest of the Romans fixed their 
most loved retreats; and when the narrow shore could 
no longer supply sites for their splendid villas, built 
moles and foundations in the sea; and exhausted regal 
fortunes, so that they might possess a dwelling in this 
enchanting region. Here rose the villas of Pompey, 
Marius, and Csesar—here the young Marcellus died, 
whose untimely death is so affectingly introduced by 
Virgil in his JEneid. Those splendid palaces and villas 
have disappeared, and scarcely a vestige of their ruins 
is to be seen ; but the same delightful shore, the same 
beautiful sea, and soft and delicious climate that attracted 


252 


BAIA. 


the luxurious lords of Rome to settle there, still invite 
the stranger to linger on that favoured strand. Here 
did the Romans abandon all restraint, and give them¬ 
selves up entirely to those sensual indulgences to which 
they were ever so prone, and to which every thing around 
them ministered—here was the abode of pleasure—here 
Venus alone was worshipped. This was “ the golden 
shore of Baia and blessed Venus”—“ Littus beatae veneris 
aureum Baias.”—Martial, lib. xi. ep. 81. Still does her 
beautiful temple adorn the shore, and arrest the stranger's 
attention—-the most remarkable as well as most beautiful 
of all the ruins of ancient Baia; and even still within the 
ruined fane there are chambers and figures, that recall too 
well the rites with which Venus Genetrix was worshipped.. 
From Baia we proceeded to Misenum, which also would 
appear to be little changed since the time of the Romans. 
It was one of their two great naval stations, being in¬ 
tended for the fleet which was to guard the Tyrrhene 
sea, as that of Ravenna was to protect the Adriatic. A 
large Neapolitan frigate was at anchor in the bay, be¬ 
tween Baia and the Cape, so that we may suppose the 
place still presents advantages as an anchorage. Having 
duly explored the “ piscina mirabilis” and other subter¬ 
ranean regions, we were shown, near the promontory, 
the ruins of the famous villa of Lucullus, so celebrated 
for its splendour and beautiful situation by Roman wri¬ 
ters, and rendered memorable as the scene of the death 
of the Emperor Tiberias, who was here prevented by 
tempests from regaining his beloved Caprea. Near to 
Misenum, at a little place called Bacola, we were shown 
some ruins as the tomb of Agrippina, the mother of Nero. 
The place is certainly associated with the fearful tragedy 
which terminated her infamous existence, and has con¬ 
signed the memory of her monster son to everlasting 


SHOOTING EXCURSION TO THE LAGO DI MONTE. 253 


execration ; but there is little reason to believe that these 
ruins actually formed her tomb. We are told, indeed, 
by the historian Tacitus, that a small tomb (levem tumu- 
lum) was erected to her near Misenum, overlooking the 
bay ; but these ruins are too extensive to answer this 
description; and doubtless Nero would have been careful 
to destroy all traces of her wretched memory, as well 
as of his own horrible impiety. Having wandered some 
time in the Elysian fields, we re-entered our carriage, 
and again taking the road to Pozzuoli, returned to Naples. 

In my desire again to visit this most interesting region, I 
accepted, a few days after, an invitation to form one of a 
shooting party to the neighbourhood of the Lago di Monte, 
in the woods about which I was told we should find abun¬ 
dance of woodcock. The weather had become suddenly 
cold ; and, seized with a desire for a good manly walk in 
our English fashion, as well as caught by the idea of 
shooting woodcocks on the banks of the dreaded 
Acherusia, I prepared for the expedition with much 

anticipated pleasure, disregarding all E-’s kind 

and prudent objections. We had six or seven hours 
to drive before reaching the scene of operations ; and 
it required all the enthusiasm, caused by again feeling 
myself in a shooting-jacket, and girded with a shot- 
belt, to reconcile me to leaving, at three o'clock of a 
cold December morning, the warm precincts of the 
Chiaja, for a six hours’ drive in an open carriage. 
Taking a hasty cup of coffee, and a mouthful of 
bread, a miserable apology for that most important 
meal, a good breakfast, I got into the carriage, and 

proceeded to the house of Mr. D-. I found him 

waiting for me; and, after a hurried salutation, he 
informed me that the two other gentlemen, who were 
to have made up our party, had sent excuses. I could 




254 SHOOTING EXCURSION TO THE LAGO DI MONTE. 


not help inwardly applauding their superior wisdom; 
but my friend, who, notwithstanding his “ black cloth,” 
was an enthusiastic Nimrod, assured me that it was 
all the better, that we should have all the sport to 

ourselves : and then he went on to inform me of all 

✓ 

the arrangements he had made, as to cacciatori, guides, 
&c. “ We have leave to shoot all the woods, save 

those actually reserved by the king to himself; we may 
not, indeed,” said he, “ shoot the boars, but then, in 
self-defence, you know, we may do more than that— 
and if one should come in our way, I am prepared with 
ball to anticipate his tusks.” My blood mounted at 
the thought—I had never seen a wild boar “ come 
foaming from the thicket;” and now 1 was about to see, 
perhaps to encounter one. Anticipating all the excite¬ 
ment and glory of our battue, I no longer thought even 
of the classical interest of the scenes we were to visit, 
or those which we were traversing. Smoking my cigar, 
and listening to my friend’s rather long-winded stories 
and sporting adventures, we had passed and turned 
aside from Baia, and were approaching the scene of 
operations, before I even remembered that I had not 
breakfasted ; at last, however, I was too sensibly re¬ 
minded of the fact, and began to inquire as to my friend’s 
commissariat arrangements ; the indulgent reader will, 
therefore, understand the painful feelings of surprise 
with which I heard that one of the deserters, who had 
constituted himself our caterer, had forgotten, with his 
note of excuse, to send the promised hamper; and that 
a few biscuits and a little brandy constituted the entire 
extent of our provision for the day There was no help 
for it; however, we might obtain some bread, and then 
we could of course manage to roast one of the wood¬ 
cocks ; and, my friend assured me besides, that, knowing 


SHOOTING EXCURSION TO THE LAGO DI MONTE. 255 


the nature of the country we were about to visit, he 
had taken care to eat a hearty meat breakfast before we 
started, early as it was—would that I had been equally 
provident! We at last reached the heights of the Lago 
di Monte, and were met by the cacciatore and guides, 

whom Mr. D- had sent to engage—the fellows took 

care not to lose their carlini by being out of the way. 
I managed to obtain a piece of coarse brown bread, 
at the house where we put up the carriage, and we 
now prepared in earnest for the chasse ; but, alas! we 
were soon filled with melancholy forbodings of the 
miserable failure that was to attend our shooting ex¬ 
pedition, as well as of the deception which had been 
practised upon us. We were about to enter at once 
one of the woods that seemed to present the most 
likely covert for game, when our cacciatore (game- 
keeper) stopped us, by saying that it was reserved 
for the king. We passed on a little further, when again, 
as we were about to enter another copse, he cried out, 
“ Eccelenze, eccelenze, non si puo entrare, questo bosco & 
servato al He.” Much irritated, my friend produced 
the order he had obtained from some of the royal 
household of Naples, but we were told that that 
licence extended only to a marshy strip of land, 
bounding the forest; but here, the rascally Capo di caccia 
assured us we should find abundance of game. Thither 
we then proceeded, and, after much beating and 
splashing about, and often knee-deep in water, we at 
last succeeded in starting a few outflying birds, which, 
as invariably as we put them up, dropped down again 
within the royal limits. In desperation, we tried the 
range of our pieces, in shots as long as even Bob Acres 
could have desired, but without even appearing to 
frighten, much less draw a feather. 



256 SHOOTING EXCURSION TO THE LAGO DI MONTE. 


As to boars, we did not even get a glimpse 
of one, though, I think, the guides were careful to 
show us some of their tracks. The upshot was, we 
perceived we had been made fools of, and that our 
sporting expedition was a miserable failure; in this 
frame of mind we came upon some furze and thorn- 
bushes, when all at once, the nondescript mongrel 
dogs of the Capo caccia began to wag their tails, and 
grow unusually lively, although never venturing to 
beat twenty yards in advance. Our guides made signs 
to us to hold ourselves upon the alert, when, lo ! 
up started a flock of thrushes, but to the utter as¬ 
tonishment of the Capo caccia and beaters, we pull¬ 
ed not our triggers, but brought our guns down 
again, with an exclamation which, though purely Eng¬ 
lish, is universally intelligible—“ perche non tirate, 
signore ?” they all cried out together, “ sono eccel- 
lente”—why do you not fire ? they are excellent!” 
Sportsmen in Italy, and even in France, do not dis¬ 
dain to fill their bags with whatever comes in their 
way—linnets, blackbirds, or even sparrows—for their 
ideas of the chasse are, indeed, quite different from 

ours. I remember at -, an old gentleman, 

an ancient militaire , who used to make his servant 
scatter seme corn under his windows, where, having 
taking his station, in full sporting costume, he used 
to fire away at the sparrows with wonderful content¬ 
ment, and meeting him in the evening, he was al¬ 
ways sure to reply to your inquiries by telling you 
he had been at the chasse. Thoroughly disgusted 
with Italian field sports and gamekeepers, and deter¬ 
mining, after this day’s experience, never to be again 
led into a similar enterprise, I prevailed upon my 
friend to terminate our vain pursuit, and having dis- 



SHOOTING EXCURSION TO THE LAGO DI MONTE. 257 


pensed a couple of piastres to the Capo di caccia and 
the hungry rascals who had assisted him in humbug¬ 
ging us, we got into the carriage, and, after a miser¬ 
able drive of six hours, cold, wet, and famished, late 
in the afternoon again reached my lodgings in the 
Chiaja. Looking back upon that day, I have reason 
to congratulate myself that I did not terminate my 
excursion to the dread Acherusia, by taking my pas¬ 
sage in the boat of Charon himself; hut having es¬ 
caped, I think myself bound to warn any of my 
readers, who may feel his sporting propensities excited 
by the interested accounts of the Neapolitan cacciatore, 
to beware of being duped, but at all events, to avoid 
any expedition to the Lago di Monte. 

A French war-steamer has just arrived in the bay, 
with the Duke d’Aumale on board, on his return 
from Algiers. He comes, it is said, in search of a 
wife, < and is a candidate for the hand of the fat 
sister of the king. 

Louis Philippe is, no doubt, desirous of strengthen¬ 
ing his dynasty by drawing still closer the ties 
which unite him to the other members of the House 
of Bourbon, He has had a hard card to play, but the 
king of the barricades could not be surprised if the 
old monarchies regarded him with repugnance, and his 
most friendly overtures with suspicion. The king of 
the French is not, however, a man to be easily re¬ 
pulsed or turned aside from his object, and year after 
year he has succeeded in conciliating the powers who 
were most opposed to him, in disarming his enemies, 
and, in short, dispersing, with consummate wisdom, 
“ all the clouds that lowered upon his house,” and 
which have so often appeared, charged with certain 
destruction. But the truth is, Louis Philippe, as 


258 NAPLES—ARRIVAL OF THE DUKE D’AUMALE. 

long as he remained true to the principles of the 
revolution of 1830, must have prepared himself for the 
continuance of such hostility. The king of the French, 
carrying out the ideas and principles of the charter, 
would have been a constant object of fear and hatred 
to the members of the holy alliance, who would re¬ 
gard him as the chief magistrate of- a country and 
people, the natural allies of liberty and progress in 
Europe. This was neither the desire nor the game 
of Louis Philippe—a Bourbon, his sympathies were 
never with the people, although he availed himself of 
a favorable juncture to carry out the darling object 
of the House of Orleans, by expressing devotion to 
their cause; but his object accomplished, his policy 
has been like that of most successful usurpers, rather 
to strengthen his dynastic interests than to support 
the principles of those who placed him on the throne. 

The revolution was to be buried in oblivion, or, at 
least, all allusion to it confined to the three days’ 
commemoration which, having been too rashly sanc¬ 
tioned, could not easily be abolished. Able represen¬ 
tatives were chosen, the fears of absolutism and divine 
right subsided, till, at last, even the autocrat and 
Prince Metternich understood the design, and recog¬ 
nised the mission of Louis Philippe, to secure his 
own family on the throne of France, and to act as 
a drag-chain on the car of liberty. Some doubts, as 
to ulterior design, might, indeed, cross the minds of 
watchful statesmen, as they observed the favorite de¬ 
sign of Napoleon carried into execution, and Paris girt 
with an impregnable wall; but there were answers 
suited for all; the “ forts detaches,” it was whispered 
in the saloons of diplomacy, were intended to keep 
the Parisians in order, while the chambers were invited 


259 


NAPLES. 

to vote the requisite supplies to secure France from 
the disgrace of another foreign occupation of its capital. 
At length, indeed, restless spirits began to ask them¬ 
selves what France had gained by the Three Days, 
and to discover that their fine scheme of a monarchy, 
surrounded by republican institutions, was but a 
utopian vision. Meantime, the cause of liberty retro¬ 
graded as, successively, the unhappy people of Poland, 
Italy, and Spain, saw themselves betrayed and aban¬ 
doned by the power in whom they had most confi¬ 
dently relied, in their struggles for freedom; but all 
this was of little consequence; the sacrifice, even of 
national honor, to gain the northern powers, and 
tranquillise the fears of the Pope. Hitherto Louis 
Philippe has succeeded; it is said that the emperor 
Nicholas is shortly to be a guest at the Tuileries, 
while the Duke de Bourdeaux vegetates at Gratz ; and 
as for the Pope, Louis Philippe is again “ his most 
Christian majesty,” “ the eldest son of the church,” 
in whom he places his main reliance, to stem the 
tide of revolution, and keep out alike liberalism and 
railways from the patrimony of St. Peter.* 

The political sympathies of the King of Naples are, 
no doubt, with the elder branch of the Bourbons; but 
he is the nephew, by marriage, of Louis Philippe, and 
is only too sensible of the advantages of his powerful 
protection. The late sulphur business, and the deci¬ 
sive tone taken by the English admiral which terminated 
the absurd contest, deeply irritated his Neapolitan ma¬ 
jesty, who, it is said, uttered many impotent and ridi¬ 
culous threats, and was only compelled to yield, by the 
united expostulation of the entire corps diplomatique. 

* The French revolution has occurrred while this sheet was passing 
through the press. 


260 


THE DUKE D’AUMALE. 


Since, the mighty king of “ the Two Sicilies” has con¬ 
tinued in high dudgeon with England and the English, 
and has thrown himself into the arms of France. Our 
countrymen must now give place to “ la grande nation 
and those amongst them who are fond of bowing to 
royalty will be made to feel the change that has taken 
place in those saloons since, under the all-powerful will 
of Nelson, the beautiful Lady Hamilton and her creature 
Acton ruled supreme in the court of Naples. 

The Duke d'Aumale was, therefore, received with the 
greatest eclat and distinction. We were stunned with 
salutes from St. Elmo and the Castel del Ovo, while 
the king took advantage of the occasion to display all 
his military power, and get up a succession of grand 
reviews, to do honour to his illustrious visitor. The 
streets resounded with military music, the mustering 
of troops, and the clash of arms; while the soft mobile 
Neapolitans, as if answering to the call of their sove¬ 
reign, abandoned the city, and, in immense crowds, 
poured out to the field of mimic battle. We might 
have fancied ourselves transported to the military court 
of the great Frederick, did not the beautiful sky, the 
soft balmy air, and crowds of priests, remind us that we 
were still in Southern Italy. 

Truth to say, those soldiers of his Sicilian majesty 
did make a goodly show that day, both horse and 
foot. The men were fine, tail-looking fellows; they 
were exceedingly well-dressed and appointed, and the 
cavalry splendidly mounted. The greater part—indeed 
almost the entire of the revenues of the state goes to 
support this enormous military establishment, the use 
or object of which, however, it is not easy to point 
out, as the Neapolitan army has not played a very 
distinguished part. “ Forme di Leone con cuori di lepri” 


CASERTA. 


261 


is said to have been the unhappy Murat’s description of 
them, when the brave and ill-fated sovereign had in vain 
tried to lead them against the Austrians. They make, 
however, excellent mercenaries for quelling domestic 
troubles, and cut down an unarmed fellow-citizen with 
the most admirable sang froid. The sons of Louis 
Philippe are remarkable for their docility, and the 
filial obedience with which they carry out his poli¬ 
tical views; but, nevertheless, it began to be cur¬ 
rently rumoured in Naples, after the duke had seen 
his intended, that even his recent residence amongst 
the Moslem at Algiers had not reconciled so much 
embonpoint with his ideas of female beauty. 

1 took advantage of the opportunity offered by some 
friends of ours having accepted the invitation of an 
officer of the king to visit the royal palace of Caserta 
—certainly the most magnificent palace in Europe— 
the splendid architectural design of Vannitelli. Ancient 
temples and amphitheatres—the wrecks of Pompeii and 
Herculaneum, have all been laid under contribution, 
or, rather, have been ransacked to furnish forth marble 
columns and ornaments worthy of adorning this single 
royal dwelling; but we are amazed as much at the 
choice of Caserta as a royal residence, as at the ex¬ 
traordinary vastness of this wonderful palace itself. It 
is in the midst of an arid and mountainous country, 
so badly situated for even a supply of water, that, as 
a preliminary step to the building of the palace, a 
vast aqueduct (one of the most extraordinary modern 
works in Europe) had to be constructed to carry the 
water from Ariola, a distance of twelve miles. There 
were many other difficulties; but Charles the Third, 
with an obstinacy worthy of his race, was bent upon 
having a palace at Caserta; and, possessed of great 


262 


CASERTA. 


wealth, and the command of the richest building mate¬ 
rials, he determined that it should exceed, in size, and 
design, and sumptuousness, Versailles itself. He was 
fortunate in finding an architect to his purpose; and 
the result certainly is a palace worthy of lodging an 
Assyrian king. It was intended that all the ambassa¬ 
dors at the court of Naples should take up their quar¬ 
ters here, otherwise not all the crowd that are wont 
to attend on royalty could have occupied a third of 
its extent, unless, indeed, that Charles had been equally 
blessed with old King Priam, and could have filled all 
the chambers of his enormous palace with his own 
patriarchal progeny. 

“ Quinquaginta illi tkalami spes tanta Nepotum 
Barbarico postes auro spoliisque superbi.” 

But, whatever may have been his projects in this respect, 
they have all come to nothing. Caserta and its great 
palace are alike deserted; and the latter only remains, 
a splendid monument of wasted means and misdirected 
power. The palace is not half furnished—of works of 
art and pictures it contains none, if we except some 
portraits of different members of the Spanish Bourbons, 
and only remarkable for their truly royal ugliness. 
Having now visited most of the places of interest in 
the immediate vicinity of Naples, I prepared for an 
excursion to Paestum, and was fortunate enough in 
finding two very intelligent companions (one of them 
a Cambridge man, and a member of my own profession) 
to join me. The weather was delightful; and, leaving 
Naples on a beautiful morning, with good strong horses 
and an open carriage, we set out for Salerno, where 
we proposed to spend the night. We passed through 


VISIT TO PiESTUM. 


263 


a succession of small but interesting towns, some of 
them the earliest settlements of the victorious Normans, 
It seemed, indeed, curious enough to us that, as we 
left the shore of the bay of Naples, and struck in¬ 
land, a very remarkable change was observable, not 
only in the country, but in the appearance of the 
people. The Neapolitans are nearly as dark as Asia¬ 
tics ; but these people were fair, and taller—often with 
the blue eyes that bespoke their northern origin; and, 
while surrounded by umbrageous beech-trees, and ample 
green pastures, with the cattle feeding at liberty in 
the fields—so rare a sight in Southern Italy—we might 
at times almost fancy ourselves passing through parts 
of Normandy. Having surmounted a rather long ascent, 
formed by a spur of the Apennines, we beheld La Cava, 
embosomed amidst lofty mountains, and surrounded by 
verdant hills. Crowned with little villages and country 
houses, it presents one of the most delightful views 
imaginable to the traveller and the artist. It was 
amidst the solitude of these beautiful and picturesque 
scenes, that Salvator Rosa gratified his love of nature 
and retirement, and found the subjects of his wondrous 
landscapes. There is a hotel and some accomodation 
at La Cava; and, certainly, there does not appear in 
Italy a more delightful place for a summer residence. 
From La Cava we gradually descend the mountains, 
passing alternately through wooded hills and green 
umbrageous valleys, watered by cascades and rivulets, 
and rich and well-cultivated fields, till at Veitri we 
beheld the sea, and the beautiful Gulf of Salerno, 
with the islands of the Sirens; Luccosia and* Cape 
Enipeus marking its azure limits. A short drive 
along the curving shore of the gulf brought us into 
Salerno. We occupied a couple of hours before dinner, 


264 


PJSSTUM. 


in visiting the cathedral, adorned by Robert Guiscard, 
the celebrated Norman leader, and conqueror of Sicily 
and Apulia, with many beautiful objects, taken from 
the ruins of Psestum. They consist of columns of verde 
antique, of broken capitals, and vases of porphyry; 
and an enormous one of granite, of sixty-six palms in 
circumference—used, it is said, as a basin to receive 
the water from the aqueduct, in one of the fountains 
of Psestum. An agreeable walk along the sea-shore 
gave us a good appetite for our dinner, at the Albergo 
del Sola; and our cordiality was heightened by an ex¬ 
cellent bottle of Lacryma Christi. Next morning, at 
an early hour, we proceeded to Psestum ; distant about 
twenty-six English miles. The road, for a while after 
leaving Salerno, passes through a well-cultivated, though 
thinly-populated country, the inhabitants of which seem 
a peculiar and remarkable people, differing greatly, in 
their manners and customs, from those of any other 
part of Italy I had visited. Gradually the country became 
wilder and less cultivated, the farms fewer and farther 
between, as we approached the Silarus, a small river, 
over which we were carried by the ferry-boat, as there 
is no bridge. Having gained the opposite bank, we en¬ 
tered upon one of the most dreary and desolate plains 
it was ever my misfortune to traverse: a dead, boggy 
flat, in parts overflowing in stagnant marshes, with 
jungles of briars, and reedy ferns; the undisputed do¬ 
minions of brigands and malaria. There was scarcely 
a sign of any attempt at cultivation ; for it seemed as 
if desperation alone would dispute here with the de¬ 
structive malaria. This region has, indeed, long 
rejoiced in an infamous celebrity, although it is now 
less dangerous than formerly; yet, the Calabrian farmer 
and peasant we met along the road, the former mounted 


PiESTUM. 


265 


on his wild horse, and wrapped in his ample cloak, 
with pistols and stiletto, peering from beneath, the 
latter stalking savagely along, in his shaggy sheep-skin, 
and a carbine thrown across his shoulder, did not at 
all tend to confirm the assurance we received at Salerno 
of the peaceable state of the country. 

It was impossible to resist the melancholy feelings 
suggested by the dreary aspect of all around us; 
gradually we appeared to be leaving not only the 
regions of civilization, but even of life itself, as we 
pursued our melancholy way, and penetrated further 
into this desolate and Stygian plain ; even our horses’ 
feet were no longer heard on the swampy and shak¬ 
ing soil, while, as if by common consent, we sus¬ 
pended all conversation, and kept silently looking out 
for the ruins of Psestum. Was this really the bless¬ 
ed region celebrated by the poets, which once bloom¬ 
ed with perpetual flowers, but above all, with the 
queen of flowers—the rose of Paestum—“biferique 
rosaria Paesti?—Was this the once-favored abode of opu¬ 
lence and commerce, nay, the delicious suburb—the 
chosen retreat of the luxurious Sybarites ? Here Na¬ 
ture herself seemed to have changed, and in vain we 
looked around for something to identify the desolate 
place with the glowing language of ancient writers. 
The melancholy description of one of our own poets can 
alone convey a just idea of the desolation of the scene— 

“ Far as the sickening eye can sweep around, 

’Tis all one desert, desolate and grey, 

Grazed by the sullen buffalo alone; 

And where the rank uncultivated growth 
Of rotting ages taints the passing gale.” 

Thomson. 

We now approached the ruins of Psestum, of ancient 

N 


26G 


PiESTUM. 


Possidonia, the City of Neptune, in whose antiquity 
Rome and its history appear but as things of yes¬ 
terday. For a long time before we arrive at the 
walls, the majestic columns of the Temple of Nep¬ 
tune fix our attention, and, regarded midst the deso¬ 
lation of the surrounding solitude, excite more strong¬ 
ly our interest; there seems a peculiar fitness in these 
lofty columns of Neptune's ruined fane, being the 
first object that meets the eye of the traveller in ap¬ 
proaching the ancient Possidonia. A solitary house, that 
affords the traveller some temporary shelter and re¬ 
freshment, received the horses and carriage. Here we 
were immediately surrounded by a crowd of wretched- 
looking beings, whose emaciated forms and jaundiced- 
coloured visages bore frightful evidences of the ra¬ 
vages of the malaria; these miserable beings are 
induced by want and pinching misery, to come down to 
this Acherontian plain, to reap and gather in the scanty 
and precarious harvest; those wdio can manage it, 
make their escape before nightfall to the villages on 
the sides of the neighbouring mountains; but those who 
are so wretched as to have no refuge to fly to, re¬ 
main, and are uniformly struck with the withering and 
pestilential breath of the destroyer. But the enemy is 
not only in the air—the bituminous and putrid waters 
that spring from this Stygian plain, are as deadly 
and bitter as the waters of the Dead Sea. No one 
who has not beheld the miserable beings, who haunt 
like ghosts the ruins of Paestum, can have an idea 
of the awful power of the malaria, which, like a curse, 
has smitten the inhabitants, and withered the once 
fertile plains of ancient Italy. Never, oh ! never can 
the glazed eyes and haggard looks of that wretched 
group—the first objects who presented themselves— 


PiESTUM. 


267 


the only inhabitants of ancient Psestum, that came 
forth to greet us, pass from my recollection The 
objects of antiquity that make up the remains of Pms- 
tum are few, but these are great and wonderful—the 
massive and cyclopean walls, whose construction and 
amazing solidity carry us back to a period of the 
world, ages and ages before the foundation of Rome— 
the sepulchral barrows, all those splendid ruins, the 
Temple of Neptune, the Basilica, and the Temple of 
Ceres. The Temple of Neptune is not only the most 
remarkable building in Italy, but, perhaps, in Europe ; 
Greece itself has nothing like it, for the portico of 
the Parthenon does not convey to the eye of the be¬ 
holder such an impression of solemn grandeur. It is 
a quadrangular edifice, presenting on each side four¬ 
teen magnificent columns, and six in each of its fronts. 
These immense columns are composed of only six enor¬ 
mous jDieces; they verge smaller towards their capitals, 
which are severe and simple ; a flight of steps which 
surrounds the temples, serves for their base. The en¬ 
tablature is without ornament—in fact, the people who 
raised this wonderful structure, seemed to have dis¬ 
dained ornament, and to have set their whole design 
on erecting a temple which should endure as long as 
the sea itself, to whose ruler it was dedicated; its 
massive strength and stability is combined with won¬ 
derful skill and justness of proportions, and the result 
is, an effect on the mind at once, solemn and religious. 
The number of columns enlarging towards the base, 
the vast extent of the building, the unbroken unifor¬ 
mity of its exterior, all minister to the same idea. 
Leaving the Temple of Neptune, a few paces bring 
us to another magnificent building, called the Basilica, 
and supposed to have been the Comitium, or place of 


P^STUM. 


268 

public meeting to the citizens of ancient Peestum. It 
scarcely differs in style or design from the Temple of 
Neptune. The Temple of Ceres, on a much smaller 
scale, preserves also the same simple design of the Temple 
of Neptune. They shewed us some remains of an 
amphitheatre, which, however, present little that is re¬ 
markable. Having strolled about an hour amidst these 
lonely but majestic ruins, and here and there plucking, 
from amidst the rank grass, a wild-rose to insert in 
our note-books, the approach of evening, and the 
warning of Madam Stark, made us hasten to return to our 
carriage. The guide we found an intelligent and decent 
fellow; he is appointed by the government, who are 
now beginning to take some care of the classical remains 
of the country ; he told us, however, that he is careful 
to leave this baneful region always before sun-set, for 
the mountain village, which he pointed out to us, about 
four miles off. At the solitary inn, or halting-place, 
we were again surrounded by the same forlorn group 
of malaria-stricken creatures, who had met us in the 
morning; the poor wretches had collected a quantity 
of coins and terra cotta images, to extract from us a 
few “ granihaving tried, as far as we could, to 
appease their importunities, we got into the carriage, 
and set forward for Salerno; but long did our eyes 
rest upon these lonely and majestic ruins—the only 
signs of civilization upon that desolate plain—and recall 
that group of wretched creatures—the sole possessors 
of ancient Psestum! We congratulated ourselves upon 
passing the Silamas, and finding ourselves clear of 
that desolate and dangerous region, and again among 
the cheerful habitations of men, on the pleasant 
beach of Salerno, as the night closed in. The next 
morning we returned to Naples; what I had seen of 


RETURN TO NAPLES. 


269 


the beautiful Gulf of Salerno, however, made me 
more anxious not only to visit it myself again, but 

to induce E- to share with me the pleasure of 

a second excursion; having, therefore, made up an 
agreeable party, again leaving Naples at an early 
hour, and taking the same beautiful road through 
La Cava, we found ourselves in the afternoon walking 
on the beautiful strand of Salerno. As we purposed 
to visit Capri, and return to Naples by Sorrento, we at 
once hired a boat, and crossed over to Amalfi, where we 
slept. No pen can do justice to the beauty of the situa¬ 
tion of Vietri and Amalfi; which, closed in by lofty 
mountains, as if separated from the world, embosomed in 
orange and lemon groves, impend from their airy heights 
over the azure bosom of the Mediterranean. It was neces¬ 
sity that compelled the people of Amalfi to maritime 
pursuits ; till at length they became, during the middle 
ages, the most commercial people in the south oi 
Italy. A few fishing boats, or a passing felucca, 
now alone are seen on the deserted shores of Amalfi. 
Next morning we embarked; and, coasting along the 
beautiful shore, in sight of the fabled islands of the 
Sirens, which, however, we passed in perfect security, 
we looked forward to double Cape Minerva, and reach 
Capri at an early hour; but a heavy ground swell 
began to heave in-shore—the premonitory sign of one 
of those sudden Levanters, which so suddenly spring 
up in the Mediterranean. The ladies of our party 
became uneasy, and having in vain tried to appease 
their fears, we at length landed at Scaracatoja, and 
having spent some time in mounting its rocky steps, 
we at length reached the summit of the cliff, when 
a short walk brought us to a place were we found 
donkeys, which took us across to Sorrento. I confess 



270 


SORRENTO. 


I was disappointed with this place. The view of the 
Bay of Naples from Sorrento, is, indeed, magnificent, 
when you can see it, which, however, is only from 
the mountains behind, or from the immediate bord of 
the sea. The little narrow roads are surrounded on 
both sides with high walls, and even the houses 
themselves are actually buried and over-topped by the 
groves of oranges and lemons. I cannot think Sor¬ 
rento can be the delightful summer quarter they say; 
indeed, I have been told by several who have spent 
that season there, that the heat is oppressive to the 
last degree. They showed us the house supposed 
to occupy the site of that of Bernardo Tasso, the 
father of the immortal author of the “ Gerusalemme,” 
and where he first saw the light. What a life was 
his—what trials—what vicissitudes—what sufferings ! 
Could even his father himself, a poet, have foreseen 
the future, how he would have started back, dismay¬ 
ed at the glory which his illustrious son was to 
obtain, at the cost of so much woe. Better—far 
better—to have lived and died in peaceful obscurity, 
than to have experienced all the bitter vicissitudes of 
his strange and unhappy life. At one time, courted 
and caressed—reciting his poem in the saloons of 
princes, or pouring his melting strain into the willing 
ear of beauty ; now thrust forth, a banished exile, from 
the court his genius had adorned—wandering house¬ 
less and unfriended like Homer—begging his bread 
through the cities of Italy—carrying his immortal poem 
in an old drum, till, broken by fatigue and suffering, 
standing at the gate of Turin, in tattered doublet, 
he is indebted to the casual arrival of a passing 
stranger for admission within its walls! But he has 
had the poet’s reward—glory and honor unexampled 


CAPRI. 


271 


(from age to age increasing) have surrounded, and will 
for ever surround, the name of lasso. Even his 
own age, in the person of the most distinguished of 
earthly potentates, proposed to expiate its crime, by 
accumulating on his head the highest poetical dis¬ 
tinction in the “Eternal City;” but the atonement 
was too late, and ere it could be rendered, the spirit 
of Tasso had done with this world, and was equally 
beyond the reach of princely tyranny, or papal flat¬ 
tery. From the cloisters of St. Anne, that restless and 
soaring genius had taken flight, we may hope, to the 
mansions of the blessed—to that pure and serene 
heaven, whose ineffable glory he himself had sung 
with such fervent rapture, and there found the rest 
his vexed and broken spirit had in vain sought upon 
earth. Although the evening looked very threatening, 
I was not to be put off from my visit to Capri, 
but I could only prevail on one of our party to ac¬ 
company me; we proposed to pass the evening there, 
and devote the forenoon of the next day to visiting 
the different, points of interest. We reached the 
marina of Capri before nightfall, and put up in a 
little place they called the inn. We whiled away 
the evening in witnessing a variety of dances, per¬ 
formed by the girls of the village, who had dressed 
in their beautiful Grecian costume, and came to the inn 
to amuse us. Next morning, at a very early hour, 
we proceeded on our rambles, and scaled the summit 
of that steep cliff which crowns the eastern point of 
the island, and upon which are still to be seen the 
ruins of the palace of Tiberius. Hard-by w'e were 
shown that awful cliff, down which, we are informed 
by the historian of the Twelve Caesars, this monster 
of lust and cruelty was accustomed to make his 


272 


CAPRI. 


miserable prisoners fling themselves, for his amuse¬ 
ment; while below, to prevent any chance of escape, 
boatmen were placed, who dispatched with spears 
those who showed any symptoms of life. This fear¬ 
ful cliff is still called “ il salto,” or “the leap.” Read¬ 
ing the pages of Suetonius, and particularly those which 
relate to the life of this brutal tyrant, our horror 
and disgust are sometimes mingled with increduli¬ 
ty. We are tempted to believe that the historian 
is describing some dreadful creature of the brain, and 
not a real man; but when we examine things more 
closely—look into our own hearts, and reflect upon 
the tendencies of our depraved nature—we feel too 
deeply the conviction that such things may have been, 
and would be again, without the blessed light of that 
revelation, which restrains and purifies, even while it 
pardons. Vast masses of brickwork, arches, and frag¬ 
ments of Mosaic pavements, constitute nearly all that 
now remains of the Tiberian Palace. A little chapel 
and hermitage, dedicated to the “ Madonna del Soc- 
corso,” is perched amongst these ruins, to which the 
holy hermit himself is the guide. I regretted the 
state of the weather prevented us from fully enjoying 
the magnificent view which this lofty height affords; 
but the same cause also prevented us visiting the 
beautiful “ grotto blene indeed it is a mistake to visit 
the island, except in very settled weather, for there 
are many inviting excursions to be made, and many 
other ruins existing, equally deserving of attention 
with those of the Villa Jovis. We began, however, 
to be impatient to return, as the Levanter continued 
to blow with increasing violence; reflecting how uneasy 
the rest of our party would feel without us at the 
Hotel des Sirens, I went down to the beach, and began 


CAPRI. 


273 


to consult with our boatmen, the majority of whom 
I found were well disposed to remain snug, at our 
expense, in Capri; hut, not at all inclined to supply 
them with maccaroni for the next two days to come, 
during which they told me it was very likely this 
wind would continue to blow, I told them they must 
at once address themselves to St. Antonio, and prepare 
to face the burrasco. It was what sailors call “a leading 
wind and I felt if our cranky boat and patched can¬ 
vas could only be relied upon, I could manage to lay 
her over to Cape Minerva. I had no difficulty to 
persuade my companion to trust to my seamanship; 
and the opposition of the boatmen, if not their fears, 
being overcome by my determination, to cross over with 
or without them, we got into the boat, and were 
pushed from the beach of Capri by the fishermen, with many 
ominous warnings. Pulling up to windward, under the 
lee of the island, till we came near the eastern pro¬ 
montory, we there put up the mast, and laid our boat’s 
head off for Cape Minerva. I then began to feel in earnest 
what a cowardly set of rascals I had got for my crew; 
they seemed, with every lurch of the boat, and flap of 
the sail, to lose all presence of mind; when told to 
“haul aft the sheet,” they pulled away at “the haul- 
yards ;” and, shouting and tumbling upon each other, 
every moment, seemed as if determined in their madness 
to overset the boat. Fortunately, amongst these 
cowardly rascals—for sailors, or even boatmen, I can 
scarcely call them—I found one stout-hearted fellow— 
a. Genoese belonging to a felucca come to Sorrento 
for oranges—who appeared to feel that something else 
was more necessary than shouting in the name of the 
Madonna or St. Antonio. lie cheerfully and promptly 
obeyed my orders; and having, by threats and even 

n 2 


274 


NAPLES—MUSEO BORBONICO. 


main-force, compelled the rest to keep themselves quiet, 
we at last seemed to have a chance of reaching Sor¬ 
rento in safety. There is no species of knowledge 
which the man of the world will not find useful to 
him in life; but, although it had occurred to me 
before, I never felt greater occasion to congratulate 
myself on my knowledge of boating, than in working 
this miserable Sorrento skiff from the Island of Capri. 
Once across the strait, and under the high-land, we 
were not only out of all danger, but in calm water; 
our boatmen suddenly recovered their voices and 
their energy; the sails became useless, and they took 
to their oars again, with their old cry, “ tirate, tirate, 
per il maccaroni.” Pulling along the beautiful shore, 
we soon reached the point of Sorrento, where we 

found E- and the rest of our party waiting, 

anxiously, to welcome us on shore. We lost no time 
in getting a carriage, and setting off to Castella Mare 
and Naples. 

We devoted some days, after our return from this 
excursion, to visiting the Museo Borbonico, dis¬ 
tinguished, even amongst the galleries of Italy, for its 
wonderful collection of antiquities, consisting, principally, 
of ancient frescoes, bronzes, and sculptures—the 
treasures rescued from the ruins of Pompeii and Her¬ 
culaneum. Though surpassed by many galleries, in the 
department of sculpture, yet the possession of the 
celebrated Toro Farnese and Hercules, the beautiful 
and touching figure of Agrippina (which at once 
impresses the observer with the conviction of its 
being an original), as well as the splendid group 
of the Balbi family, the patrons of ancient Hercu¬ 
laneum, render this Museo altogether one of the 
most interesting in Europe. 



NAPLES—MUSEO BORBONICO. 


275 


But now a variety of circumstances, and particu¬ 
larly the increasing delicacy of our dear little Alice, 

and the anxiety of E- to consult Dr. K- 

about her, made us determine to give up our 
house at Naples, and proceed to Rome for the 
winter. Our landlord was induced, by a compensation, 
to free us from our contract with him; and, again 
taking to the water, we proceeded to Rome, by Civita 
Vecchia, and, early in December, found ourselves 
comfortably settled (that is for Italy) in the Palazzo 
Ciccaglia, in the Corso of the “ Eternal City.” 





276 


ROME. 




CHAPTER XVIII. 


The Winter at Rome—Religious Festivals—Gaieties—“Why is there no English 
Minister in Rome?”—System of Government by Ecclesiastics—Roman Manners— 
Domestic Sorrows—Removal to Albano—Journey to Florence—An honest Vettu- 
rino—Return by myself to Rome—The Holy Week—The Ceremonies—Break up 
of the Foreign Society of Rome—Still linger in “ the Eternal City”—My last Visits 
in Rome—Farewell Reflections—Return to Florence—Departure from Italy—End. 


Rome was very much crowded this season. Russian 
princes, English “ milords,” and German barons, daily ar¬ 
rived to swell the processions of carriages on Monte Pincio 
and the Corso, while the religious ceremonies in cele¬ 
bration of the Nativity fully occupied the time of the 
wonder-loving multitude, of which our own countrymen 
form so large a portion. The pope was carried about 
in St. Peter’s, dressed and undressed,'as usual; the 
miraculous “ Bambino” and “ Proecessio” was displayed 
to the faithful in the church of Ara Coeli; and, in short, 
every thing went on in Rome in more Catholico , as they 
say, and as tilings have gone on there from generation 
to generation—for the court and church of Rome equally 
affect unchangeableness in all their ceremonies. The 
carnival came, and with it those splendid festivities and 
delightful reunions of rank, fashion, and intellectual 
distinction, which give such a charm to Roman society. 
The saloons of the Austrian and French ambassadors, 
of the Princess Torlonia and Prince Canino, were thrown 


ROME. 


277 


open with all their wonted hospitality. Those who were 
so fortunate as to witness the grace with which the amia¬ 
ble lady of the French ambassador presided over those 
elegant festivities in the Palazzo Colonna, sigh to re¬ 
member that she is now no more. Torlonia was, as 
usual, untiring in his desire to render Rome agreeable 
to the “ forestieri.” His different palaces were put in 
requisition, and selected according to the nature of the 
proposed festivity ; while even the strict rules of mother 
church could not impede his hospitable designs, but, 
when the “ festa di ballo” was forbid, he took care to 
provide against English ennui by concerts and tableaux 
vivants; and in this, the favourite seat of music and 
painting, it is needless to say, that the great banker 
was able to command such an array of talent as en¬ 
sured the success of those entertainments. But we 
must not forget another of his advantages, and one 
that has contributed so largely to his popularity— 
namely, the possession of the most beautiful wife in 
Rome. What man has ever gazed on that pale and 
beauteous brow—that classical-shaped head, and those 
sweet features and soft Italian eyes, without an aching 
of the heart as hard to restrain as to account for; and 
yet, there is something so pure in the graceful sim¬ 
plicity of her manner, that our admiration is always 
mingled with the respect which we so willingly pay 
to this beautiful daughter of the noble house of 
Colonna. 

Why has not England an ambassador at Rome ? It 
will not do to refer any longer for an answer to the 
old statutes of premunire. The relief act of 1829 has 
rendered a change of policy imperative in our dealings 
with the court of Rome; and, regarded in any point 
of view, this continued adherence to antiquated rules 


278 


ROME. 


and by-gone diplomacy, is as unwise as it is incon¬ 
sistent. Prussia and Hanover are states not less Pro¬ 
testant than our own, yet these, in common with all 
the other powers of Europe, have their ministers in 
Rome. While we recognise the pope as a temporal 
sovereign, it seems hard to explain our maintaining 
this isolated position towards the papal court in our 
diplomatic relations. Certain it is, however, that the 
political importance of the question, connected as it is 
with the future government of our large and increasing 
Roman Catholic population, must be considered at no 
distant day; meantime, our not having a minister at 
Rome only renders the splendid hospitality of the 
Austrian and French ambassadors towards the Eng¬ 
lish visitors the more honorable and striking. Of all 
societies in Europe, that of Rome is the most difficult 
to understand correctly: its manners and habits differ 
from those of all the other great European capitals, 
for its sovereign is a priest, its rulers priests, its 
princes and “ senators” cyphers! Go where we will, 
this strange order, or, rather, disorder of things, forces 
itself upon our observation. Of the inhabitants of 
Rome, the priests and religious orders number not 
less than nine thousand; and it is only justice to 
say, they are not only the most powerful but most 
active part of the population. Everything is done by 
them, through them, and for them. They occupy all 
the avenues of the state ,'* and fill all the offices of 
power and emolument. The departments of justice 
and police, of finances, and even war! are presided 
over by ecclesiastics, or monsignori; and under their 

* The reader will remember, this was written during the late ponti¬ 
ficate. 


ROME. 


279 


direction all things are made subservient to the one 
grand object, the maintenance and extension of the 
papal supremacy, and the aggrandisement of their own 
order. “To-day,'’ said one of the popes, “we have 
made religion with money, to-morrow we will make 
money by religionand every one who has lived at 
Rome, and studied the Roman system of government, 
will acknowledge how ably this happy idea has been 
carried out by his succession of faithful ministers. The 
good of the people is a secondary object. As long 
as the price of bread is kept within the reach of 
their bajocci , and their minds are kept occupied with 
a varying round of religious ceremonies, all the func¬ 
tions of government are fulfilled. Should any grumbling 
Carbonare require more, his voice is soon silenced by 
banishment, or the dungeons of St. Angelo. I have 
said that it is difficult to rightly comprehend the true 
state of Roman manners, for it would require the resi¬ 
dence of years to penetrate the veil of mystery and 
outward decorum which guards the domestic life of 
the Romans. It is only upon occasions such as the 
last week of the carnival, that they permit themselves, 
or rather are permitted, to give way to their natural 
impulses ; and certainly, from what the stranger then 
sees, he may well doubt that such vivacious beings 
assume voluntarily so much outward reserve and de¬ 
corum during the rest of the year. “ Nella corte di 
Roma quello che mostra di saper tutto sa griente ma chi 
finge di saper nulla sa il tutto.”—“In the court of 
Rome, he who pretends to know everything, knows 
nothing, and he who pretends to know nothing, knows 
everything.” This Italian saying will, I suspect, be 
found to embody the spirit that actuates Roman so¬ 
ciety, at the same time that it should make us can- 


280 


ROME. 


tious in crediting all the idle stories that circulate so 
freely, particularly amongst the English at Home. The 
carnival, and all its fetes and follies, had past away. 
Rome had put on for some time its usual aspect of 
ascetic dignity—the long days of Lent were dragging 
away—Cerito had vanished—the Argentino was closed 
—the Romans had relapsed again into all their list¬ 
lessness and apathy, till at length the great epoch of 
the year at Rome, “ la Santa Settimana”—the holy 
week, or “ Carnival of the Priests,” as passion-week 
has been called—drew nigh, and filled all Rome, but, 
most of all, our wonder-loving countrymen, with the 

hope of some excitement; but, alas ! neither E-nor 

myself felt much in the mood for such sights, however 
grand and imposing in themselves. To those who 
cannot regard them with a religious feeling, they 
must, after all, remain mere sights and spectacles; 
and our hearts were too much touched by sorrow to 
allow us to share in the pleasure anticipated by all 
our acquaintance, as they impatiently waited for the 
advent of these great ceremonies. Our poor little 

A-, a tender flower, upon which all our care has 

been lavished in vain, had drooped and died. 

E-’s health had suffered much from sorrow and 

anxiety, and the air of Rome seemed to disagree with 
her; still, as this was the second spring I had found 
myself in the “Eternal City,” 1 confess I did feel some¬ 
what reluctant in quitting it without witnessing those 
far-famed ceremonies. Albano, we were told, offered 
all that could be desired from change of air, and its great 
hotel ample accommodation. But I found less difficulty 
in disposing of our apartments in the Corso, than in 
persuading E to protract our residence in the neigh¬ 
bourhood of Rome. There are times when an unac- 






ROME. 


281 


countable yearning for home, that strange u mal de 
P a y s -> takes possession of the heart, and will brook no 
obstacle or delay; but there is no time when this 
feeling is so powerfully awakened as when, in a strange 
land, domestic sorrow has invaded our temporary home, 
and death has deprived us of some of those dear objects 
whose presence around us had served to make us forget 

our native country. Thus it was with E-; all her 

desires (with which, indeed, my own were in unison) 
now tended northwards, and she liked not, therefore, the 
proposition of removing, in the contrary direction, even 
the short distance between Rome and Albano. How¬ 
ever, not to oppose herself to my wishes, she con¬ 
sented, and with governess, children, and all, we were 
speedily provided for in the immense palace-like locanda 
of Albano. I confess, I had little less reason than 
Sterne for his journey to France, to justify my perti¬ 
nacity in not quitting Rome or its neighbourhood—he 
was mortified at not being able to reply to the remark 
that “ they managed things better in France,” made to 
him by one who had travelled as far as Calais, and I 
dreaded, having wandered about so long in the Italian 
peninsula, to be asked what I thought of “ washing the 
feet in St. Peter's,” or “ the benediction of the people 
in Piazza by the Pope?” and to be obliged to reply 
that I had never witnessed these ceremonies. But 
how many journeys, since the days of Sterne, have been 
both postponed and undertaken for no better reason. 

Our short residence, however, at Albano, afforded us an 
opportunity of enjoying some very agreeable excursions 
to the different interesting scenes about the Alban lake, 
the site of ancient Alba Longa, and the temple of Latian 
Jove, the memorable “ Mount of Triumph,” in the days 
of the Roman Republic. Those pleasant rides did much 



282 


ROME. 


to restore E-’s health and spirits ; still, as I found 

her so strongly desirous of moving towards England, I 
assented to the plan of passing a month or two at 
Florence, till the passes of the Alps would allow of our 

crossing them; E-, in return, promised that there 

should be no objection to my returning to Rome for 
“ the Holy Week.” We travelled en voiturin , and 
were fortunate in securing an excellent fellow for our 
vetturino, with four of those wonderful black Roman 
horses I have already described. Never did a better 
or more light-hearted fellow than Diamonte Pacifico 
crack a whip or carol an aria along the highways of 
Italy. We chose the Strada di Perugia, the longest 
route, by far the most preferable; Diamonte left it to 
us to choose, and when we had done so said he was 
“ molto contento ,” for that he had his wife at Foligno, 
“ il suo paese.” The recollection of this circumstance 
did not seem to disturb him much, however, for the 
fellow seemed only too well known to all the belle ragcizze 
along the road; even my little L- could not help fall¬ 

ing in love with him, as he presented her with flowers, 
and even one morning with a beautiful linnet in a little 
cage, lest she should be wearied, annojata , as he said, 
with the tedium of the journey, as children are apt to 
be. There was a gentle thoughtfulness in all this, rarely 
found in the lower orders of any other country but 
Italy. 

I have already described this beautiful road, but I 
rejoiced in the opportunity of again beholding the 
memorable lake of Thrasymene, and of visiting, in 

company with E-, the magnificent cascade of Terni. 

As we approached Florence we experienced a consider¬ 
able change in the temperature; indeed, considering 
that it was towards the close of the month of March, 






JOURNEY TO FLORENCE. 


283 


the reader will be surprised to hear that in sunny Italy 
we were detained the last stage of our journey by a 
heavy fall of snow ; but this is often the most severe 
and trying period of the year in Italy, and particularly 
in those parts of it which are situated near the 
Apennines. It grew milder, however, as we descended 
(on the morning of the sixth day from our leaving Rome) 
from the mountains in the neighbourhood of Florence, 
into the beautiful valley of the Arno. How beautiful 
the graceful olive trees looked, bending beneath the 
weight of snow that lay upon them. 

Passing in quick succession the innumerable villas 
which on all sides surround Florence, we at length 
entered the Porta Romana, and rolled along once more 
over the flagged streets of “ Firenze la bella,” and 
settled in our hotel. In the evening we had a visit 
from our good friend Pacifico, with whom we parted, 
mutually pleased—he with his “ buono mano,” we with 
his good conduct; so much so, indeed, that it was 
arranged that at the end of a month he should take us 
on to Milan. I know not how it was, but after the 
solemn grandeur of old Rome, Florence, and all it 
contained, looked insignificant and common-place; so 
that after taking apartments in the Piazza Santa 
Maria Novella, I found it impossible to reconcile my¬ 
self to remaining there, while so many of the Flo¬ 
rentines themselves were hurrying off to the “ Eternal 
City,” for “ the Holy Week.” 

In this mood I was reading, one evening, in Sir 
Humphrey Davy’s “ Consolations in Travel,” a beau¬ 
tiful description of a moonlight scene in the Colos¬ 
seum, which so revived my desire for a farewell 
visit to the scenes that had given me so much plea¬ 
sure, that no longer able to constrain my wishes, I 


284 


RETURN ALONE TO ROME. 


threw myself into the mal poste, and found myself 
once more entering the Piazza del Popolo, within a 
fortnight of our leaving it. I was in time for all 
the ceremonies ; but Rome was crowded to excess— 
I could scarcely get a nook anywhere, till, at length, 
a friend of mine was induced to yield me one of his 
rooms at the Hotel Angleterre. And remembering the 
old adage, that when at Rome, one must do as the 
Romans, I found myself like the rest of the world, 
running from church to church, soliciting orders for 
the “ funzione,” pushing through crowds at the risk 
of my life; and, in short, making myself as great a 
fool as any of the most insatiable sight-seers. But 
was I repaid for all this exertion ? demands, perhaps, 
some matter-of-fact reader—hardly : for, if we except 
the benediction scene in the Piazza San Pietro, and 
the illuminations of St. Peter's itself, there, is little 
in all these boasted ceremonies to repay the stranger 
for the pain and fatigue it will cost him to see 
them. 

Many of them are only saved from absolute con¬ 
tempt by the glorious building in which these cere¬ 
monies are celebrated. I have excepted, however, 
from these remarks, the benediction of the people by 
the pope, on Easter Sunday, and the illumination of 
St. Peter's; these, indeed, are grand sights, and, per¬ 
haps, in themselves, worth a longer journey than I 
took to witness them. There is something of the soul of 
the old Roman in the aspiring pride with which the pope, 
regardless of all the changes in the world, still stretches 
forth his arms over the prostrate multitude, from the 
balcony of St. Peter’s, as in the days of the great 
Gregory—something grand, even in the obstinacy with 
which he refuses to contract the limits of his spiri- 


ROME—THE HOLY WEEK. 


285 


tual empire, and utters his benediction in the proud 
words of the ancient formula—“ Urbi et Orbiand 
amidst the salvoes of artillery, from the Castle of 
St. Angelo, scatters, in assertion of his power, (al¬ 
though, it is true, with a very sparing hand) indul¬ 
gences, to be scrambled for by the eager crowds 
that throng the steps of St. Peter’s. But what is 
the moral effect of this most imposing ceremonial 
on the mind of the Homan people? One has not 
to go far to answer the question. More than once 
I heard the fierce imprecation, and saw the knife 
grasped in anger, by those who had so lately pros¬ 
trated themselves in the dust, to receive the be¬ 
nediction of his “ holiness,” as they struggled and 
disputed about the worthless slips of paper—not that 
they have any great veneration for them, or desire to 
appropriate their virtue to themselves—but it is said, for 
the purpose of selling them again to some of the curi¬ 
osity-collecting forestieri, who willingly pay large sums 
to obtain them. 

The illumination of St. Peter’s, and the magnificent 
fireworks at the Castle of St. Angelo, which terminat¬ 
ed the proceedings of the holy week, exceed, in mag¬ 
nificence and effect, all I could have anticipated. It 
is, indeed, when we have beheld, from Monte Pincio, 
that majestic dome, towering in a blaze of light to¬ 
wards the star-lit skies, that w r e can fully estimate the 
aspiring design and glorious genius of Michael Angelo. 
The night was serene, the air soft and balmy, and for 
hours, in company with some friends, I promenaded the 
gardens, regarding the great cathedral, till its illumi¬ 
nated cross, like the stars with which it mingled, and 
thousand lamps began “to pale their ineffectual fires’ 
before the approach of morning. Day had scarcely 


286 


ROME. 


dawned, when every street in Rome resounded with 
notes of departure; travelling-couriers thronged the 
way, and carriers and postilions were seen running 
about in all directions ; vetturini were busy packing 
their great unwieldy vehicles; the offices of the mal 
poste and diligences were besieged by impatient crowds, 
till, at length, as if with one common impulse, all the 
strangers of Rome were seen rushing from its gates, as 
if the city had become suddenly infected with the 
plague. I remained in Rome a day or two after the great 
crowd had departed. I felt that, in all probability, it 
was the last time I should ever tread its memorable 
streets; and I know not how it was, but I could 
not think of this, or bring myself to quit it 
without a lingering feeling of regret. In the few 
imperfect notes of our residence in the “ Eternal 
City,” I have excluded much that made it interesting 
to me, as being personal. Every day we live in 
Rome, it wins more and more upon the imagination, 
and at length upon the heart. We forget the bustling 
every-day world elsewhere, and, unmindful of the 
present and almost of the future, seem only to live in 
recalling the past. Our residence in Rome is ever 
afterwards the great, because the intellectual, epoch 
of our lives; for it is impossible, if endowed with even 
ordinary powers of reflection, for it not to give a 
colour and a tone to our future meditations. It was in 
the afternoon of the last day I spent in Rome, that, 
taking the way of “ the Repette,” and the course of 
the Tiber, I strolled along, musing and meditating on 
this great city, which, yielding to the common usage, 
rather than as giving any credit to the vain and boast¬ 
ful prediction on which it is based, I have called 
“Eternal,”—what will be its fate? “O altera Reina 


ROME. 


287 


che fato preserva le tue bellezze dalle lunghe injurie 
del Tempo ?” exclaims the eloquent Verri; and, cer¬ 
tainly, considering all the mutations of time, the 
existence and present condition of Rome, and the 
pretensions that, in spite of all its hoary decadence, it 
still puts forward to universal dominion, is the grandest 
and most portentous circumstance in the present con¬ 
dition of the world—considered in any point of view, 
whether we regard the religious or political movement 
which is now agitating almost every country in Europe, 
and the increasing activity of the Romish Propaganda, 
of that power which wields “ a sword, whose hilt is 
at Rome, and its point everywhere.” 

Will this movement be successful ? Will pilgrims, 
from all nations of the world, again throng the courts 
of St. Peter’s, in unhesitating belief in her infallibility; and 
turn again to the pretended successor of the Fisherman and 
his Council of Cardinals, as the only sure guide in matters 
of faith, and the mighty concernment of man’s sal¬ 
vation ? Who can answer this deep—this momentous 
question ?—None but God, and those to whom he has 
given power to read his oracles—those who, in watch¬ 
fulness and prayer, wait for the coming of their Lord ; 
and who, for their comfort, take heed to prophecy, 
as “ a light that shineth in a dark place”—those 
faithful servants need not be dismayed, though the 
powers of heaven be shaken—what will be the fate of 
Rome ? 


“ While stands the Colosseum, Rome shall stand ; 

And while Rome stands, the world-” 

So runs the ancient tradition; but it is not for man 
to pry into futurity—let him rather “ watch and pray, 
and walk humbly with his God.” 



288 


ROME. 


I had passed the Bridge of St. Angelo, and passed 
the Ponte Rolto, and now, near the house Cola di 
Rienzi, stood contemplating the yellow Tiber, as it 
flowed by me, concealing, under its sluggish course, 
the accumulated ruin of ages. Yes; it was here that, 
forgetful of the ruin and degradation of all around him, 
and of the long centuries of slavery that had fallen 
on his country, that the last of the Tribunes—the 
“ Spirito Gentil,” as he is called in one of Petrarch’s 
most beautiful sonnets, indulged in the vain dream of 
Roman regeneration. I felt sad, and became sadder as I 
continued, from time to time, to meet travelling carriages, 
crowded with strangers whose presence had enlivened 
Rome during the winter, now hurrying away from 
her gates, as if leaving her to that solitude which 
best becomes the “ lone mother of dead empire.” 

I recalled the pleasant parties I had joined in visiting 
the churches, the palaces, and ruins—the pleasant walks 
in the villas—the rides in the Campagna—the excursions 
to Tivoli and Frescati—and those happy social evenings, 
where the wanderings of the day and of the morrow 
formed the most in eresting topics of conversation. In 
Rome, one hears, even amongst the English, but little 
scandal or vulgar gossip. It would appear as if even 
the most frivolous minds became restrained, if not ele¬ 
vated, by the solemn grandeur of the objects around 
them. I was myself to depart on the following mor¬ 
ning, but still I had something to do in Rome—one of 
those duties to perform which causes mingled feelings 
of pain and pleasure. I desired, once more, and pro¬ 
bably for the last time, to behold the grave of our little 
Alice, and see what progress the roses had made which 
we had ordered to be planted near her tomb. These 
things are vain and trifling to the wise men of the 


ROME. 


289 




world; but they are sweet and cherished unto those 
who mourn. If I could have forgotten that lonely and 
distant quarter of the dead, where sleep so many of 
our countrymen, who have in vain left their native land 
and sought for health in this sunny clime, I would have 
been recalled to it by a present I received the day after 
my arrival from Florence : it was a beautiful and faithful 
sketch of this most interesting of all cemeteries in Europe, 
in which the plain and humble tomb of our little girl 
was made the principal object. It was intended for 

E-; and need I say that it was a woman’s heart 

that suggested that thoughtful offering of friendship ? 
Full of joy and peace may thy heart be, kind and gentle 
girl! nor may it ever be thine to know the sorrow thy 
tender friendship tried to soften. Taking the well- 
known way to this distant quarter of the city, I at 
length reached the sacred enclosure, and calling the 
custode, and telling him my object, I was at once ad¬ 
mitted within the gate. Few of our countrymen can 
walk there unmoved, amidst so many memorials of 
blighted hopes, and unavailing sorrows. 

“ Rest of the exiled! sacred place, 

Beneath the walls of Rome ; 

Hard by the pyramidic base 
Of Cestins’ giant tomb— 

“ How little recked I, when I moved 
Thy solemn precincts round, . 

That ere the form of aught I loved 
Should make thine kindred ground— 

“ How little deemed I, when I read 
The few brief records there, 

With which affection lauds the dead, 

And claims a passing tear— 


0 



290 


ROME. 


“ That soon the humble name I bear 
Should mingle with the great, 

And innocence and childhood share 
With age a common fate; 

“ And there, midst cypress gloom attest, 

We ’scape not death’s cold hand; 

But vainly seek for health and rest 
E’en in this sunny land. 

“ Brief was thy short career of life, 

Sweet child ! thy spirit bright 
But dawned upon this world of strife, 

Then heavenward winged its flight. 

“ Oh! may we meet, ne’er, ne’er to part 
Within those worlds of bliss, 

When, midst the joys that fill the heart, 

We forget the woes of this !” 

The following morning saw me on my way to Civita 
Vecchia. Rome, its churches and palaces, its obelisks 
and majestic ruins, had passed away, perhaps for ever, 
from my sight; but I still continued to ponder upon 
them, as we pursued our way over the undulating 
and woody solitude of the Campagna. Oh! may I 
hope that my residence in Rome was not without its 
fruits—that, touched with domestic grief, and musing 
here amidst the wrecks of vanished empire, I have 
acquired a more correct appreciation of the great busi¬ 
ness of life, and of the nothingness of earthly glory— 
Oh! may I prove this in my life; then will my resi¬ 
dence, indeed, prove to have been a blessing—one of 
those resting-places in mercy afforded to us by our 
Heavenly Father, to give us time to examine our past 
career and present condition, that, from the retrospect, 
we may learn wisdom to guide us for the future. May 


ROME. 


291 


such, too, be the experience of any of my readers, who, 
with this feeble volume in their hands, may find them¬ 
selves within the walls of the “ Eternal City!” 

I joined my family at Florence ; and having again 
paid a cursory visit to its well-known places of interest 
and attraction—the Pitti Palace, the Uffizi, the Duomo, 
and Santa Croce, with the beautiful chapel of the Medici 
in San Lorenzo, we at length began to prepare for our 
long and often-protracted departure from Italy. Dia- 
monte Pacifico arrived, with his great hut easy and 
comfortable vettura, and the four black Roman horses, 
whose goodness we had already tested—himself as 
merry and free as ever. Commending ourselves, then, 
to his guidance, we quitted the pleasant valley of the 
Arno, for the woody Apennines and the road to Bologna, 
which I have described already in the course of this 
volume. Nothing could exceed the honest zeal of our 
faithful vetturino: he took us to the best inns, and 
everywhere saw us served with the best fare and accom¬ 
modation the several towns w T e passed through could 
afford. I mention this to his particular honor, as too 
often his class are found to be the most accomplished 
rascals—“ birboni del primo classe”—which Italy can 
furnish. Successively we passed through Bologna, 
Parma, Reggio, &c., till, arrived at Milan, we gave 
conge to Pacifico, who left us with the warmest protes¬ 
tations of devotion and gratitude on his side, and of 
good will on ours. Next day we steamed over the clear 
and tranquil waters of the beautiful Lake of Como, and 
arrived at nightfall at the verge of those mountains, 
which were soon to separate us, perhaps for ever, from 
that lovely land, in whose fortunes and condition we 
had learned to feel so deep and warm an interest. 
Such, indeed, it may he hoped, is one of the best 


292 


ROME. 


effects of foreign travel: it expands the affections of 
the heart—we no longer confine our sympathies merely 
to our native country, but, carrying out the precept of 
the poet— 

“ All human weal and woe, we learn to make our own.” 

We were, however, still in Italy—we still heard the 
soft language of the South, however corruptly spoken; 
but, on the following day, we crossed that most magni¬ 
ficent of Alpine passes, the Splugen; and then the 
snow-clad mountains of Switzerland, with its clear blue 
lakes, and green mountain slopes, dotted with chalets, 
stretched away before us ; and soon another, and oh ! 
how different a tongue, saluted our ear in the first inn 
we arrived at in the country of the Grisons ! Little 
Lizzy, who had made the soft Tuscan her own during 
our residence in Italy (indeed it was her first language), 
stood listening with surprise in the courtyard of the inn 
to the postilions, as they talked to each other in German. 
“ Papa ! die bruta linguaccia b questa?” she exclaimed; 
and the question, and all around us, indeed, proclaimed 
we were no longer in Italy. The business of life and 
its duties call me now to other climes; but never can 
I forget the many happy days I spent in “ that sweet, 
pleasant land”—never cease to feel an interest in her 
cause, and to look forward to the day when she will 
again take her place among the nations of the earth, 
rejoicing in the attainment of that liberty, for which she 
has so long sighed, and vainly struggled. 

“ Eettor del cielo Io cheggio 
Che la pieta, clie ti condusse in terra 
Ti volga altuo diletto alma paese !” —Petrarch. 

“Ruler of Heaven! I ask that the mercy that conducted Thee on 
earth, may turn Thee to Thy own beloved and benign country.” 


APPENDIX. 


293 


APPENDIX. 


VENICE. 

In the “ Venetiae ducum series et Gesta” of Gasparis 
Contarini, himself a Venetian patrician of high rank, 
we find Marino Faliero and his tragic fate thus briefly 
alluded to:— 

“ A.D. 1354. Marinus Falierus. Hoc duce magna 
clade accepta ab hostibus et intus periculosissima con- 
jura tione laborata cujus Dux ipse auctor plebis cujusdam 
indicio proditus securi percussus fuit.” 

“ Marino Faliero, under whom a great victory was 
obtained over the enemies of the state—at home a most 
dangerous conspiracy was planned, of which the doge 
himself was the author: he was betrayed by the evidence 
of one of the common people, and beheaded.” 

The Venetian Government. —Much has been written 
on this interesting subject; but writers have differed 
widely in settling the exact nature and form of the 
Venetian government. 

It would seem, according to some, to have embodied 
the fine theory of the British constitution—namely, a 
blending of the three grand elements of government— 

p 




294 


ArPENDIX. 


the popular, the aristocratic, and monarchical. In the 
“Variorum Judicia Republica Venetorum,” printed in 
1626, the writer quotes this as the opinion of Con- 
tarini:— 

“ Contarinus idem judicandum putat de republica Vene- 
torum quam ipse ex tribus confusam esse scribit est, inquit, 
in duce regia quodammodo potestas, in senatu aristocratia, 
in consilio maximo democratia.” 

Contarini thinks that we must thus consider the Vene¬ 
tian state, which he describes as a mixture of the three 
different forms of government. “There is,” he says, “in 
the doge, the representation in a measure of the regal 
form, in the senate, the aristocratical, and in the great 
council, the democratical.” But, however fine and spe¬ 
cious all this would appear, we know too well that the 
government of Venice was an oligarchy, the most jealous, 
selfish, and tyrannical that the world ever witnessed. 


TIIE EN1>. 


Dublin ; ITinted by Edward Bull, 6, Bachelor’s-walk. 



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